


A Little 'XO' Wouldn't Go Amiss

by Guardian



Series: And They Were Roommates [1]
Category: Cable and Deadpool, Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Humor, Deadpool 2 Spoilers, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Miscommunication, Nate is an asshole, Non-Consensual Telekinetic Heimlich Maneuver, POV Alternating, Platonic Cuddling, Roommates, Suicidal Thoughts, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-06-28 11:44:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15706563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian/pseuds/Guardian
Summary: Wade finally learned his roomie's real name on day two, when the proposed nickname of 'Priscilla' was rejected via stabbing."Y'know- I usually know a guy's name before I let him penetrate me," Wade joked, gritting through the pain."My name is Nathan Summers. You can call me Nate. Or you can shut your whore mouth."





	1. I can hear... boxes

**Author's Note:**

> This was my attempt at a movie-based fic. Nate is a little darker and a lot edgier in MCU, and it gives a slightly different flavor to his characterization that I wanted to have fun with. Despite all the warnings (to cover my bases), this isn't any darker than anything that's ever happened in the comics. In fact, it's a lot fluffier in a lot of ways. ~~That being said, this'll probably hurt a little.~~
> 
> ETA: I've been told this hurts a lot. Good luck.
> 
> Huge thanks to [ladysassafrass](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ladysassafrass) for being an amazing beta and willing victim.
> 
> Setting: Deadpool 2, Bad Ending: Vanessa is dead and Nate's time gadget is broken.  
> 

  
**POV: Wade**

  
  


It had been a week since Cable -- aka Nathan Summers -- had moved into an apartment with Wade.

"Don't get used to it," he'd growled when Wade gave him a big 'we're roomies now' welcoming hug. But he hadn't shoved him away either, so he took that as a win.

Wade finally learned his roomie's real name on day two, when the proposed nickname of 'Priscilla' was rejected via stabbing.

"Y'know- I usually know a guy's name before I let him penetrate me," Wade joked, gritting through the pain.

"My name is Nathan Summers. You can call me Nate. Or you can shut your whore mouth."

Wade delicately tried to pull the knife out of his right hand. " _Whore_ mouth? Sir, I take offense. For starters, sex workers deserve respect. Secondly, I've never been paid for-- Wait, wait a second. Summers? Are you related to that uptight, one-eyed-- YEOW!"

Nate had retrieved his blade, none-too-gently, and wiped it off on his pant leg before putting it away.

"Oh, Nate. That's not sanitary. You don't know where my hand has been," Wade chided, and then gasped softly in realization. They were finally _bonding._ "We're finally bonding!"

"We are _not_ bonding," Nate denied, and promptly left the apartment, not to return for several hours. But Wade knew his new enemy-turned-frenemy-turned-pal on a first name basis now, and technically they were even sleeping together, even if Nate slept in the only bedroom because he'd called dibs and Wade slept on the couch in a pile of fast food wrappers. The couch had better lumps anyways and always smelled like delicious taco grease, so who was the real winner?

Living with Nate was weird after living with Vanessa for so long. No more kisses -- not like he wanted any. No more matching sweaters. No more rules about putting away the suit or the guns or cleaning up after himself. Needless to say, the apartment got messy fast -- although Nate would occasionally threaten him to clean his shit up, and sometimes the threat of physical violence actually worked.

Usually when Wade got home, Nate was never there.  Hours later when Nate did come back, he'd just go to bed. Other times, Wade was hired for jobs that took days of travel to complete. There was little interaction between them and they barely saw each other, so Wade took to leaving little notes behind.  
  


_Went to get milk. And also to put a cap in someone's ass. He's a bad guy though, so don't worry. I'll be home late. xoxo_  
  
  
_Forgot the milk. Also didn't cap the guy so I didn't get paid. Can you pick some up while you're out? xoxo_  
  
  
_Thanks for getting milk. I ordered Thai. Leftovers in the fridge, help yourself buddy. xoxo_  
  
  
_P.S. ok I ate all the leftovers sorry._

_P.P.S. We should order more Thai when you get back though, it was really good._

  


Mercenary jobs had become harder to come by, and then work dried up. It was almost like nobody wanted to pay a guy to kill people anymore. As if there could ever be a shortage of people in the world who needed to die. But when one door closes, another opens -- everywhere he went, he suddenly saw slews of missing persons flyers. Wade had never noticed how many there were before, but he took it as a sign. He'd always wanted to try his hand at being a P.I. and Wade hadn't realized that the market was _booming_ with families desperate to find loved ones. He offered his services as a private dick to several different people, but every single case was unsolvable. It was like they'd just vanished into thin air, but he knew that wasn't possible. It was frustrating to realize he was such a lousy dick.

At the same time, Nate's hobby of saving kittens from trees, or whatever the heck he did all day, suddenly took up more time. Or maybe Wade just hadn't realized how little Nate was around until he had nothing to do but curl up on the couch and wait for him to come back.

  
_Haven't seen you in ~~2~~   ~~3~~  4 days. Hope you didn't get kidnapped. Weasel said he'd keep me posted if someone tried to sell a stud grandpa on the black market. Or a metal arm._  
  
  
_Someone tried to sell a metal arm on the black market????!! It better be Bucky's and not yours. Not like I care._  
  
  
_It was Bucky's._  
  
  
_Where the heck are you??? Also, we_ _so_ _need to exchange numbers as soon as you get back. Texting would be more efficient than leaving notes you never read._

  
  
At least if he could text, Nate would have to look at what he wrote. There was nothing that he hated more than being ignored. Might as well just talk to himself. Which he did a lot of lately.

Wade missed the exact moment when Nate got back. He heard him in the kitchen, and woke up to see Nate pulling the last two Hello Kitty post-it notes off of the fridge.

"You're alive," Wade said, sitting upright. Then he gasped in realization. "You _do_ read my notes!"

"I read all your notes, Wade." Nate tossed the pieces of paper into the trash.

"Well. You could write _back_ once in a while," Wade groused. "A little 'xo' wouldn't go amiss."

"We're not exchanging numbers," Nate added, ignoring Wade's request. "I've seen the photos you send to Blind Al."

"You should be grateful you _can_ see, pal!"

"Sometimes I'm really not. Goodnight, Wade."

"Oh." They weren't going to banter, apparently. "Goodnight, Nate," Wade said, but the other man was already gone, shutting himself away in the bedroom. "Glad you're alive," he mumbled, sinking back down onto the couch.

Nate was back. It should've been easier to sleep now, but instead it was harder.

  


-

  


The jobs that seemed the most straightforward always had to be the worst. What he'd been asked to do was morally bankrupt, even by Wade's grey standards, and his client not only tried to hardcore murder him, but had also intended to frame him for innocent lives lost if things had gone according to their plan. Fortunately, they hadn't accounted for Wade's pain tolerance. Which wasn't really much higher than anyone else's pain tolerance, but he always healed up eventually.

This time when he got home, Nate was already there. For the first time in forever Nate was dressed down -- no weapons, no military-esque clothes with excessive amounts of pockets. Just one buff, half-metal silver fox in his comfiest set of PJs, watching Food Network.

It made Wade's chest ache in a way totally unrelated to the three-inch piece of steel lodged between his ribs.

He had a weirdly vivid mini daydream of Nate just _looking_ at him like he'd missed him too and had been waiting for him to get home. Both of them squashed together on the couch, PJs on, sharing a quart of Ben and Jerry's with the same spoon, arguing about whether pineapples belong on pizza. Something that almost matched the happiness he'd felt with Vanessa. For a second, he almost forgot.

 **_(She's dead, stupid. Nobody's gonna love you like that again. He doesn't even like you,)_ ** a cruel voice in his head reminded him. It was startling how abrupt and clear the thought was.

All of the warmth left his body at once, leaving him a little breathless and dizzy. He was vaguely aware of Nate looking at him, but it was less of a ' _you're home'_ and more of a ' _why are you here?'_

Wade went to the kitchen to get himself a drink and get his head together. Something hot and sweet would be nice, like cocoa. The next thing he knew, he was on the floor instead.  Everything hurt. Nate was kneeling over him, saying his name from far away, even though his hands were touching Wade's face.

"Your arms must be really long," Wade mumbled. It was a little hard to breathe.

"Wade, you died for a second," Nate told him. Wade couldn't quite tell if Nate was concerned for him or just annoyed. "I had to pull a piece of metal pipe from your chest. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I got a… pipe in my chest," Wade said, pausing for breath. His lungs felt wet and heavy. He should've left the pipe in.

"Very illuminating," Nate deadpanned, letting go. "Anything else I should know?"

**_[Now's your chance. Tell him you love him.]_ **

**_(No, that's sappy. Just tell him you're DTF.)_ **

"Shut up," Wade blurted out, mortified.

Nate's eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?"

Ah, fuck. Nate probably heard that last bit. "Not you… I can hear... boxes," Wade said, unsure of how else to explain it.

"Boxes," Nate repeated.

"Yes. Can you hear them too?" Wade asked, hopeful.

"No, Wade. I can only hear you," Nate assured him. Wade started to slump in disappointment, but to his surprise, Nate stooped down and picked Wade up in his arms.

"Ah-! Don't drop me," Wade clung to him as Nate carried him across the apartment. A traitorous, fluttery desire in his gut foolishly hoped that Nate was carrying him off to bed -- well, more specifically, _Nate's_ bed.

**_[So strong. What's that arm made out of, anyway?]_ **

**_(Husband material.)_ **

**_[Who's sappy now?]_ **

To his disappointment, Nate deposited him on the couch.

"Sleep it off, Wilson," Nate advised in a gruff tone, gently prying Wade's hands off of him.

**_(Oof. Last name basis.)_ **

**_[That's not good.]_ **

Wade stayed quiet until Nate left, but inwardly he was feeling a little panicked.

These thoughts didn't feel like his own, even though they had his voice. His mind was always scattered, full of thoughts that flowed nonstop like a babbling brook. Sometimes it took a lot of conscious effort to reign himself in and make sense of his own head. But these just popped out of nowhere, in bold print, in boxes that were separate from everything else.

"Am I going nuts?" he wondered aloud, whispering to himself, because honestly, he was a little afraid of his own head right now.

**_(A little late to be asking that.)_ **

This time the reply wasn't so startling. He could almost see the words printed inside a little yellow box.

**_[To be fair, you've lost a lot of blood.]_ **

That one was a little kinder, and more rational. Wade saw it as a smart Courier font against clean white.

**_(Why are you smarter than me? We're in the same brain.)_ **

**_[Hah.]_ **

"Is this like, a tumor?" Wade asked himself. Or maybe he was asking them. "Do I have a tumor pressing on my brain?"

**_[I mean. Probably.]_ **

**_(Yeah, you're riddled with a fuckton of cancer. This was bound to happen eventually.)_ **

"True," he agreed. "Okay, voices in my head. I'm gonna shut my eyes and go to sleep and when I wake up, my tumors will be in new and exciting places and both of you are going to be gone. Bye-bye. Permanently."

**_[Wow, rude.]_ **

**_(Yeah, goodnight to you too, jerk.)_ **

Wade ignored them and just kept his eyes shut.

  
-  


The next day, Nate found Wade at the kitchen sink, coughing up blood clots into the drain.

"Did you die again last night?" Nate asked, too deadpanned to actually sound concerned.

"Only in spirit," Wade quipped. But he was pretty sure he had, in fact, drowned in his own blood at one point. That was probably why he'd slept so well, and why he remembered dreaming about Vanessa.

The good news was, the voices -- or boxes -- had gone away. It was just him, himself, and also him in his brain now.

Another half-chunky, half-slimy blood clot suddenly came up, and the solid little thunk into the sink made Nate grimace.

"I'd appreciate it if you could contain your biohazards to the bathroom," Nate said.

Wade was already gripping onto the sink for dear life, his eyes watery and stomach sick from the effort his body was making to expel that crap. He didn't want to put his face in the toilet right now. He knew what horrible things took place there.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd shut your handsome face and mind your own-" Wade broke off into dry heaves, which he hated, but he tried hard to roll with it, to hack up more of the crust and slime he could feel stuck inside. Ultimately, nothing came up that time. He spat out some pink-tinged saliva and slumped over the sink.

"Almost had it. Oh man, this is worse than spitting up bullets. Those just come out when they're ready. Maybe if I drown myself in the bathtub, the blood clots will rinse out. What d'you think?"

Wade looked up at Nate and was met with his usual stony expression. It was so hot when Nate did his serious face, but if Wade didn't know any better, he'd think Nate didn't really care at all.

"I'll help you," Nate said, to Wade's surprise.

"Really?" he asked, excited, but then remembered that he'd just said he was going to try drowning himself. "Oh. Yeah. I bet you'd love to hold me down and watch me struggle. I'll make it good for you, baby. Just promise me we'll do it face to face."

Nate's mouth twitched, trying to pinch back a smile. On second thought, Nate trying not to smile was even hotter, even if it was because he wanted to drown Wade in a bathtub, the sicko. But Wade would let him.

"I don't want to watch you struggle," Nate assured him.

"Ah. Consensual." Wade nodded in understanding. "Okay, well, I'd be open to some over-the-clothes stuff, and whatever happens while I'm still dead doesn't count."

"I don't think we're having the same conversation," Nate laughed, all teeth and handsome, handsome face. He put his hands on Wade's shoulders, one warm flesh and one cool metal. It was obvious that Nate was trying to be gentle with him. Wade wanted to combust.

"Do you mind if I try something on you?"

" _YES,_ you can do whatever you want to me," Wade blurted out all at once.

"Okay." Nate's smile was a little more creepy (but no less hot, curse him) and since when did his left eye _glow?_

Wade suddenly had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Waityoudidn'tsaywhatyou'regon- hhhhkkk!"

He tried to throw up in the sink, but it didn't come -- or rather, it didn't _stop_ coming. The sick feeling kept rising and rising and rising, against his will and even against what his body was involuntarily trying to do. Something completely beyond his control. A massive amount of clotted blood was pulled out of his body, his throat, his mouth, and levitated through the air and into the sink by some invisible force. Then all at once it was over.

"What the fuck was _that?!_ " Wade gasped. His lungs felt better, but Nate suddenly looked more worn out than he did.

"Probably a quart of blood," Nate estimated. "And… a Lego man?"

"No, that Criss Angel Mindfreak shit!"

"Wade, please."

"No, _you_ please! Did you just use psychic powers to pump my stomach?"

"There's surprisingly very little stomach content. That's mostly from your lungs."

"I don't remember inhaling a Lego man… But that's not the point! Psychic powers, Nate, Y or N?"

"Y."

"Oh my god," Wade put his hands on his head. "I thought I could trust you, Nate. I feel so violated. This whole time my voluptuous brain might as well have been naked and I was living with a damned dirty peeping Tom. How many times did you whammy me?"

"Wade, first of all, I rarely ever use my powers-"

"A likely story! Wait-- I _do_ remember inhaling a Lego man last week."

"It's the truth," Nate asserted. He was so damn serious, it completely ruined Wade's melodrama. "You see all this metal?" he asked, flexing his sexy cybernetic arm.

"Yes," Wade bit his lip.

"It's a techno-organic virus," Nate said. "Turning my flesh into metal. It would completely consume me if left unchecked. I have to constantly focus on holding the infection at bay. So trust me, I use my abilities sparingly. Secondly… yes, I did try to 'whammy' you, once, during our first fight. I couldn't get the image of naked Bea Arthur out of my head for hours."

"That was a gift you didn't deserve."

"...Right. So I haven't used my powers on you, Wade. I wouldn't."

"You just did," Wade reminded him.

"With your consent."

"That was dubious at _best_ and now we have to add a warning in the tags," Wade sighed. "Non-consensual telekinetic Heimlich maneuver…. This is problematic now. People aren't gonna click on this."

"Sorry? I could put it back in you if you want."

" _No!_ " Wade's vivid imagination immediately conjured an image of that happening, and needless to say it was extremely unpleasant. "Of all the things you could put in me, that would rank among my _least_ favorite options."

Nate gave him a funny look. "Noted," he said, and then turned to walk away.

"What does that mean? Nate?"

Nate turned back around before Wade could follow to pester him. "Wilson," he growled, his voice low and threatening in a way that made Wade go a little weak in the knees. "Clean your shit out of that sink. I wash my fucking vegetables in there."

"Since when do you have to _wash_ vegetables? They come in a can!"

"Not all of us eat cat food, shit-for-brains."

"Just because you've binge watched eight-year-olds making sauteed mashed potatoes and julienne gravy doesn't mean you're smart enough to do it."

Nate looked at him like he was having an aneurysm. "I don't know how to 'julienne' gravy."

"My point exactly!"

" _No_. Because those words don't go toge-" Nate stopped himself, rolling his eyes. "Fine, Wade. I'll make dinner tonight. But only if you sanitize this shithole. Got it?"

"Got it," Wade repeated, surprised by the offer. Actual food, made by Nate? He'd eat that even if it sucked.

After Nate left for the day, he started cleaning, washing out the sink until all that was left was the tiny Lego man. Wade put him on top of the fridge for safe keeping and then continued on, throwing away moldy leftovers and scrubbing a layer of crust off the stove. No wonder he never saw Nate cook in here. He even unearthed an actual bottle of cleaner and really went to town. A few hours later, everything in the kitchen was clean and his body ached.  Maximum effort. The only thing left to do was wait for Nate to return.

  


-

  


It was past midnight when Nate came back. Wade sat up and peered at him, bleary-eyed and hungrier than when he'd fallen asleep waiting. But Nate didn't seem like he remembered his promise, and just went straight to his room.

After all that, he felt a little foolish. The entire day, Wade kept daydreaming about Nate cooking some frou-frou five star dish for him, while wearing a little apron tied around his waist. Really domesticated shit. But Nate wasn't that type. Neither of them were. Nate was too busy saving the world from itself, and Wade… well, Wade was a disaster. Now he didn't even have a tin of cat food to eat, and he'd forgotten to ask Nate to leave him money. Tomorrow he was gonna have to find a job.

  


-

  


The mercenary business was still as dry as ever. Weasel had given him a lead -- some sketchy, wealthy guy who had been interested in Wade's 'special set of skills' but when Wade had contacted the guy, he turned out to be a sexual sadist. And a real cheapskate for what he had in mind. Not that Wade had entertained the notion for an instant.

On the way home, he got hired by a dad who wanted Spiderman to show up to his kid's birthday party. The bastard almost didn't pay him, complaining that he never shot his webs, and that his swords had scared the kids (which was bullshit, because the kids had loved him). But after showing the jerk a couple of his blade tricks up close and personal, he coughed up the dough.

"Fuck you, Spiderman, you suck!"

"Yeah? That wasn't what your dad said last night," Wade countered. "Or maybe it was, 'cus I'm _Spiderman_ and I love _banging_ old dudes."

The guy had just given him a withering look. "Dude. Whatever gets you off," he muttered, walking away.

"Wait. It's that easy?" Wade wondered aloud, not sure if he was relieved or disappointed by the lack of a fight. He tried not to think about it too much.

It wasn't much money, but it bought him a lot of groceries. He took them home and then proceeded to eat until almost everything was gone and his stomach hurt.

"That was a mistake," he groaned, and then spent the next two hours either holding his stomach or in the bathroom. It was a relief, for once, that Nate wasn't around. That was, until he was done being sick and was just left feeling miserable and sorry for himself.

He was lying facedown on the couch when Nate got home, too sore and gloomy to even bother lifting his head.

Nate didn't greet him, or even acknowledge his presence. He heard Nate cross the room and the shower start up. Even when Nate was home, he wasn't there. Wade was starting to feel a little bit invisible. Maybe his face was gonna end up on one of those missing posters. Or not, because it's not like he had anyone left to miss him.

He was still sulking when Nate came back out of the shower.

"Have you even moved off that couch all day?"

Wade finally lifted his head, and then felt his brain short out when he saw Nate standing with just a towel around his waist.

**_(Oh no, he's hot. I mean, we already knew that but now he's like, naked and stuff.)_ **

**_[Is that even legal?]_ **

"Shut up," Wade said, pressing a hand to his head. They were _back_. Why were they back???

**_(Why do you think?)_ **

Nate was staring at him, brows furrowed in confusion. "Are you talking to me?"

"N-no. Not you. The boxes," Wade mumbled.

**_[You sound insane.]_ **

Nate gave him a concerned look and then left him alone, going to his room.

**_(I don't blame him. I'd be concerned about having a psycho for a roommate, too.)_ **

Wade sat upright, thumping his palms against his head, as if he could physically dislodge the boxes from his mind. "Get out of my head! It's mine. I liked it better when there was only one of me in here."

**_[I don't wanna be here anymore than you do.]_ **

"Then why are you here?" Wade asked, wishing he could dig his head open.

**_[Who else is going to put up with you?]_ **

Nate re-emerged from his room.

**_(Seriously. There's a reason he never wants to be around you. Nobody does.)_ **

Wade fell silent, still holding his head in his hands. He tried his hardest not to even think, hoping that they'd also stop talking.

**_(It doesn't work that way.)_ **

He held his breath for extra measure, and finally, it was quiet. Nate came closer, until Wade could see him in the edge of his vision, feet bare, t-shirt and pajamas bottoms on.

"Mind if I sit down?"

Eventually, Wade had to breathe.

**_[Yes, please.]_ **

He didn't say anything, still trying to figure out how to make these fucking things _stop_ , but Nate apparently took his silence for a lack of objection. Nate settled down on one end of the couch, tipping his head back like he really needed to get off his feet after a long day.

 **_(And he has to see_ ** **your** **_ugly face. Can you imagine?)_ **

"Stop it, I know. Just stop. Stop, stop, stop, stop," Wade repeated, over and over, not caring now if Nate heard how fucking crazy he sounded, arguing with _nothing_ , so long as it _fucking stopped._

"Have you been here all day talking to yourself?" Nate asked. Wade flinched, but Nate didn't sound condescending or accusatory. He actually sounded a little bit worried about how long this had been going on.

Wade took a deep breath. "No. I got paid a little bit today," he said, focusing on his words. If he spoke, the boxes would stay quiet for a little longer. "I bought some food. But then I ate all of it. And then I got sick."

Nate tilted his head. "Sick as in…? Hearing boxes talking to you?"

"No, as in I ate way too much," Wade groaned. "I was so hungry but now I'm only full of regret about my life choices."

"Ah. Fuck. That's right, I said I'd make dinner the other night," Nate remembered.

"You _did._ And I _cleaned_ . For _nothing._ "

"Sorry. I'm guessing you don't want it now."

Just the idea of food made Wade feel queasy again. "Uggh. No."

"Well… at least your kitchen is clean," Nate said. "That's a reward in itself."

**_(A reward in itself? What kind of asshole says that?)_ **

**_[The kind that throws away Hello Kitty post it notes.]_ **

"Yeah, I'm gonna agree with the little yellow box on this one," Wade said. "Doing a chore isn't a reward in itself. A reward is a reward."

**_[We were really looking forward to Nate in an apron.]_ **

**_(And food. Don't forget food.)_ **

**_[But also apron.]_ **

"Understood," Nate said after a moment, having the decency to sound ashamed of himself. "I'll have to make it up to you."

"I'm holding you to that," Wade said, and then held out his little finger. "Pinky swear it."

Nate stared at the extended hand and then reached out, hooking their little fingers together.

**_[Wow. Holding hands.]_ **

Nate let go and Wade turned away, feigning disinterest.

**_(Good job, you ruined the moment.)_ **

God, he wished they'd shut up.

**_(You shut up. Fucking rude.)_ **

"I can't even think my own thoughts in my own head?"

"Wade," Nate said, to get his attention. The look on his face was like a question he didn't have to ask.

"Boxes," Wade said, as explanation.

"You know there aren't any boxes, right, Wade?" Nate asked him. "They aren't really in your head."

"I know that," Wade said. "But they still won't shut up. I think I've got a tumor pressing on the crazy part of my brain right now."

**_(Nate doesn't get it.)_ **

**_[No, he gets it. There's not a lot to misunderstand about 'crazy.']_ **

"Why do you think this is happening now?" Nate asked.

"How the heck should I know! I've always been a little screwy, but this is too much even for me," Wade said.

**_[People who talk to themselves usually do it because there's nobody else willing to listen to them.]_ **

**_(Bingo.)_ **

"Well, I'm _not_ talking to myself. You two can talk to each other and I'm. Not. Listening," Wade huffed, curling himself up against the opposite arm of the couch.

**_(Don't ignore me.)_ **

**_[Let him be. He'll come back around.]_ **

There was a long stretch of silence. Nate turned on the TV, and then started slowly scrolling through the guide, as if it wasn't already on his favorite food-related channel.

"What do you want to watch?" Nate asked, so casually, it took Wade a long moment to realize that Nate was talking to him, and an even longer moment for his brain to short out.

"What…?"

"What do you want to watch?" Nate asked again, as if this was something that they'd ever done before.

**_(Nate's never watched TV with us. What's happening???)_ **

**_[Pity. He knows we're losing it.]_ **

Wade turned his head to stare at Nate. He felt weirdly detached from his body, from the situation itself, as if none of this had any meaning.

"Wade?" Nate asked, sounding far away. The concern on his face didn't even look real.

"Nate. I know you don't like being around me," Wade said, slowly. "This isn't your problem, so don't worry about it."

"Wade-" Nate started again, but Wade unfolded himself from the arm of the couch and left, locking himself in the bathroom.

It was quiet, at first.

Except for the echo chamber in his head.

Until Nate realized that he wasn't coming back out and started trying to cajole him to come out and talk to him. Then he started to threaten him instead. Wade just curled up inside the bathtub and pressed his hands against his ears to drown it all out. No more Nate, no more voices.

Eventually, he fell asleep.

  


-

  


When Wade woke up the apartment was silent, and so was his head.

**_(Guess again, bitch.)_ **

Or maybe not.

Wade stumbled out into the kitchen and found one of his Hello Kitty sticky notes on the counter.

  


_Went out. Be back later. Don't off yourself. Or lock yourself in the bathroom again. Fucker._

  


Wow, his allergies were acting up suddenly. Wade picked up the note and held it against his chest while he tried to think of what to eat for breakfast. It was a love note. Nate loved him, and while 'fucker' wasn't the pet name Wade would've picked for himself, it was still a pet name. He should put this note into their scrapbook. He should _start_ a scrapbook.

He made himself a bowl of cereal, and the boxes behaved themselves for once. It was hard for Yellow to get uppity when Wade had Actual Proof Nate Gave A Shit About Him clutched in his hand.

A text came, and for a second Wade thought Nate had switched numbers with him finally, but it was from Weasel. He'd sent a smiley face emoji with the eyes X'd out and a water pistol emoji pointing at it, followed by six money bag emojis.

Wade counted them again

 _Six_.

"Holy fajitas!"

  


-

  


The kill went well. Bad guy was actually bad, the person taking out the hit actually had cash, and their only stipulation was that Wade had to use a medieval weapon to accomplish his goal, which was _far_ from a dealbreaker. Apparently the auger he'd chosen wasn't meant to be an option, but Wade always liked a challenge.

It was already evening when Wade came back, but that meant he wouldn't have to wait around so long for Nate's return.

He didn't expect Nate to already be home.

Or for the entire apartment to smell like Emeril Lagasse's wet dream.

Or for that aforementioned Nate to be standing in front of the stove, with an apron tied around his waist.

"Took you long enough," Nate commented, bringing a spoonful of sauce to his lips to taste test it. He didn't seem particularly impressed, and reached for some sort of spice to sprinkle into the pan.

"Wow," Wade breathed, wandering over to Nate. He felt as if he were in a dream, especially when he managed to get right behind Nate and slide his hands over the older man's hips, over that adorable little _apron_ , without getting punched in the dick. "I don't know if you're actually here or not, 'cause I'm pretty sure I'm hallucinating," Wade said, wrapping his arms around Nate. He _felt_ solid, but that was a point against this being reality. "But this hallucination smells really good," he added, pressing his face against Nate's neck. "Dream Nate even smells like real Nate."

"Bold of you to do this while I have a hot skillet and a knife so close at hand," Nate said.

"Dream Nate _flirts_ just like real Nate, too!"

Wade wisely took a step back, but Nate still pivoted and punched him in the shoulder as hard as he could, instantly resulting in a dead arm.

"Ow-w," Wade laugh-sobbed, but mostly sobbed.

"What does this need?" Nate asked, offering Wade a spoonful of the sauce.

Wade eyed it for an instant, wondering if it was poisoned, and then rolled up his mask and happily accepted it anyway.

"It could use… more… t-k-k-k-k!" Wade tried, wiggling his not-tingling-in-pain fingers in the air viciously to illustrate his point.

Nate squinted at him for a long moment and then turned back to the stove. "I'll try more oregano."

"I'm gonna get changed into my jammies," Wade announced, headed for the bathroom-slash-laundry room with a change of clothes. "Question," he added, pausing at the door. "Should I masturbate before or after dinner?"

" _After_."

"Daring. I like it," Wade said, disappearing into the bathroom. He got changed, chucked his suit into the wash, and came back out in time to help Nate set places for them at the kitchen counter.

He couldn't remember… any time when they'd ever eaten together. Not like this, anyway. Not sitting down together.

The hearty sauce Nate had made was for spaghetti. Simple, but made from scratch, Nate had informed him. Wade wolfed down an entire helping without really stopping for air before Nate had even finished half of his plate.

"You're in good spirits today," Nate said, watching him carefully.

"I got paid!" Wade responded cheerfully. "Ask me how much!"

"How muc-"

" _Six--!_ Mmm, wait. What's the number called that has six zeros in it?"

"A million?" Nate raised an eyebrow.

"A million! Wait, no, that's not it. I think I meant six numbers altogether."

"Hundred thousand?" Nate tried again, pinching his lips against a smile.

"Yeah! I got six hundred thousand," Wade said. "And the job was easy, and I got to be creative at it."

"Who'd you have to kill?" Nate asked.

"A child trafficker, who was selling kids through a time vortex to 15th century Europe," Wade said.

Nate looked confused. "Why 15th century?"

"He figured post bubonic plague was high demand."

"That's sick. You got the kids back?" Nate asked.

"Obviously. Which, by the way, _perfect_ segueway to let you know, I've adopted about 60 to 140 kids."

Nate choked on his spaghetti.  " _About?!_ "

"Haha. Just kidding. They wouldn't let me keep even one. Kept crying about how they missed their moms and dads. Kids are so ungrateful these days. What happened to when you could just take in a ward off the street and train them to fight crime?"

"Right? Or assassinate people for money," Nate added.

"Exactly! Anyway… I think that'll pay the rent for a while, right?"

"With what you have in the bank, you could probably buy yourself a house, Wade," Nate replied.

"You mean _us_ , right?" Wade corrected.

Nate stared at him and then dropped his gaze to pick at his plate. "The X-Men offered me a position," he said. "I could stay at the mansion, if I wanted to. Or I could get a stipend. It'd probably be enough to pay rent somewhere. So I won't have to keep leeching off of you."

Wade felt confused. And then cold. Really, physically, dead-inside cold.

Nate sounded sorry about it, but hearing him call their whatever-this-was 'leeching' suddenly made him feel really stupid.

"Is that was this is?" Wade asked. His voice sounded strange, like it wasn't even his.

"What else would you call it?" Nate asked, not looking at him.

What else… What else _would_ he call it? They weren't friends. They weren't even enemies. They were roommates, and soon they wouldn't even be that.

He thought that this was something they'd agreed on together. A give-and-take. If anything, he was the one leeching off of Nate. Nate was a survivor, a soldier, a kick-ass-and-chew-bubblegum living action figure. He was cool, and scary in a hot way, and sometimes he was even soft, in an even hotter way, because it was a rarer side that Wade got to glimpse once in a while.

But Nate didn't like him. He put up with him a little bit, and that was it. When Nate left, he'd land on his feet just fine. Without Nate, Wade just had himself all to himself, and _himself_ really sucked.

 **_(I told you,)_ ** the yellow box whispered.

"Say hi to Yukio for me?" Wade asked, forcing a smile that hurt, a lot.

They ate in silence.

  


-

  


The boxes were quiet until Nate went to bed and Wade was left alone, in the dark, trying to fall asleep.

Then it started.

**_[It's not like you'll never see each other again.]_ **

**_(It's exactly like that. He doesn't want to see you. Period.)_ **

Wade pressed his hands to his face, tried to breathe in slowly.

"Nate and I… are friends," Wade said.

**_(Who are you trying to convince?)_ **

"We're friends," he repeated to himself, softer. "We're friends."

He tried to hold that thought in his head, tried to keep the boxes at bay and will himself to sleep. Things would be better in the morning.

**_[Nate will be gone in the morning.]_ **

**_(He always is. He's rarely ever here.)_ **

"Nate's busy," Wade said, trying to cling to a rationality he no longer felt convinced of.

**_[Yeah. He's busy having a life.]_ **

**_(Which doesn't include you.)_ **

**_[I think you need to take a second to ask yourself why that bothers you so much.]_ **

Wade didn't answer, but got up off the couch instead and started pacing, searching for something to do. Anything.

It wasn't like he really thought Nate would stay forever.

He just wished that Nate would show any kind of sign that he cared. Frown, shed a tear, offer him a goodbye hug, a friendship bracelet. Anything. Anything at all. But Nate didn't emote. Wade really meant nothing to him. Just leeching.

 **_(What else would you call it?)_ ** his yellow box echoed back to him.

Nate didn't even like him. But Wade had money. Together, they could have a place to live. All that Wade wanted in return was Nate's time, his presence, and his affections, however rough they were. Things that Nate was very reluctant to give. Things he shouldn't have to give, just for a shitty place to sleep. Who was the real leech?

**_(You are.)_ **

**_[You are.]_ **

**_(You are.)_ **

The voices in his head kept going back and forth, pounding the same message into his head until it didn't even mean anything anymore. He was trash, but Wade had always known he was trash. Vanessa saw something special in him, once, but he was starting to suspect that when she died, that little fleck of something worthwhile died in him too.

Wade went to get his laundry, determined to keep himself busy until he was too exhausted to stay awake any longer. He could hang them up to dry, and then clean the kitchen. Maybe if he went over everything with a fine-toothed comb -- or his toothbrush, in a more literal sense -- by morning the entire apartment could be clean, and there would be one less reason why Nate would want to leave.

But then as Wade pulled his costume out of the washer, he realized that it was covered all over with little… tiny… pink… pieces… of paper.

"No."

**_(Ohhh my god.)_ **

"Nononono-" Wade checked his pocket, where he'd put Nate's note and then forgotten it. All he found was a small, soggy lump of paper.

**_[It's gone.]_ **

**_(Wasn't that your entire proof that Nate gave a single solitary fuck about you?)_ **

"No," Wade lied, but lying to himself didn't always work so well. "It was just a piece of paper."

**_[But there won't be another one.]_ **

"I'll remember it," Wade whispered pressing his hands to his face.

**_(Will you? Do you even remember it now?)_ **

**_[Went out. Be back… Don't… Don't...]_ **

**_(Don't…. Don't… Don't remember.)_ **

"I'll remember Nate," Wade mumbled. It felt less like a statement. Less like a promise to himself. A lot more like a plea. _Please remember._

**_(Will you?)_ **

**_[Already having a hard time remembering Vanessa...]_ **

**_(Will you?)_ **

**_[What happens if you lose her photos?]_ **

**_(Will you?)_ **

**_[What happens when you lose Nate?]_ **

  


-

  


It was bad by the time Nate woke up.

**_(Bad.)_ **

He heard Nate get up and leave his room and wondered what is was that woke him. Had he been yelling? He couldn't remember.

Couldn't remember.

**_[Bad.]_ **

It took a few seconds longer for Nate to find him, curled up on the floor next to the couch.

Wade held his head in his hands, trying to keep the boxes inside, where they had to be small to fit, and quieter.

"Stop. Stop. Stop."

**_[Really bad.]_ **

Nate stood next to him. Looking at him. Watching him. "What's going on, Wade?"

Wade wanted to burrow into his hands, or better yet, into the ground, where maybe he could finally, finally rest. But he couldn't. And Nate was looking at him.

**_(Pity.)_ **

"I can't sleep. My head is so loud, Nate, they just won't stop talking," Wade said. He had tears on his face, and Nate had to _look_ at him, and he just didn't care anymore. He was so tired.

**_(Whose fault is that?)_ **

**_[It's your brain, just stop thinking thoughts.]_ **

"Get out!" Wade yelled, smacking his head so hard, his ears rang for a few seconds.

**_(You get out!)_ **

It took him a few long seconds to realize that he couldn't move his hands, that Nate had caught hold of them, to keep him from hurting himself anymore. Sweet, stupid Nate. As if Wade could be hurt anymore.

"Nate… that telekinesis stuff," Wade said, digging his fingernails into his palms as hard as he could stand. "Could you do a lobotomy with it? I don't know what part of the brain you gotta take out for this kind of shit, and I don't even care. Just keep taking pieces until it stops."

**_(A bullet would do the same thing a lot faster.)_ **

**_[Messy, though.]_ **

A bullet in his head actually didn't sound like the worst idea anymore.

**_[You're kidding, right?]_ **

"At least it would be _silent_!" Wade spat at them, jerking his hands free from Nate while his guard was down, and beating his closed fists against his head.

"Wade, _stop_ ," Nate grabbed his hands again, nearly getting himself punched for his concern.

**_[Yeah, knock it off. Listen to Nate.]_ **

"I can try to help," Nate offered. "If you'll let me."

**_(Last time he tried something, you puked your lungs out.)_ **

**_[This is different. This time we'll puke our brains out.]_ **

**_(Why waste the strength? Nate has guns. Big ones.)_ **

Wade didn't even care anymore. "Do what you gotta do, Nate."

"I'm not going to blow your brains out and neither are you. I'm a telepath, Wade," Nate reminded him. "Reading your mind is difficult, but I can project thoughts too."

"Projecting thoughts?" Wade repeated, completely defeated by the idea. "Like what?"

**_(Nate thoughts?)_ **

**_[What does Nate think about?]_ **

**_(Guns, fanny packs, pockets, chapstick…)_ **

**_[Cooking, cooking shows, Gordon Ramsay…]_ **

**_(Explosions, bigger guns, bigger chapstick…)_ **

**_[Gordon Ramsay is hot, even when he's yelling.]_ **

**_(Especially when he's yelling.)_ **

**_[Nate yells at us.]_ **

**_(Nate cooks.)_ **

**_[Nate wears aprons. Naprons.]_ **

**_(Nate in chaps. Naps.)_ **

**_[Snaps.]_ **

**_(Snacks.)_ **

Nate reached out, touching his fingertips to the temples of Wade's head. Instantly his head was filled with a white static sound that increased in volume until only a split second it was _way too loud_. Wade jerked his head away, flinching from both the unexpected touch and the sensory overload.

"Sorry," Nate said. He reached out again, but Wade shivered and stayed just out of reach.

"What was that?" he asked, shaky.

**_(I didn't like that.)_ **

**_[Touching…]_ **

**_(I could hear the ocean.)_ **

**_[Does that mean our head is a seashell?]_ **

**_(No, it's Nate's thoughts, Nate is the seashell.)_ **

**_[Sneasnell.]_ **

**_(Sne snells snea snells by the snea snore.)_ **

"Oh my god, you're so annoying," Wade groaned, holding his head in his hands. " _Nate._ "

"Wade, it's easier if I can keep in contact while I use my power on you."

**_[We'd be touching…]_ **

"I didn't like that, it's loud."

**_(Couldn't hear myself think.)_ **

**_[But I liked Nate touching us.]_ **

**_(Touching was nice.)_ **

**_[Nothing hurt.]_ **

**_(That's as close as you can get to being dead without dying.)_ **

**_[Dying is nice.]_ **

**_(Death is nice. Dying hurts.)_ **

**_[Living hurts.]_ **

"Wade," Nate said again, his voice calm but strong. He sat down on the couch, close to Wade, holding his hands open. "Come here. Put your head down, okay? I'll make it quieter this time."

"Make my head quieter?" Wade asked, edging closer.

"Yes," Nate promised. "I'll make it go away."

**_(Nessa went away.)_ **

**_[Nate will go away.]_ **

"They're just bad thoughts, Wade," Nate said. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay with you until you fall asleep."

**_(And then what?)_ **

**_[He can hear our thoughts now?]_ **

**_(It's almost like he's a psychic with psychic powers.)_ **

**_[How can he know what we're thinking? I don't even know what we're thinking.]_ **

"I just want to sleep," Wade mumbled, suddenly feeling completely drained. Physically. Emotionally. Mentally. He was so tired. If he could just rest.

"I'll help you sleep, Wade. It's okay," Nate said, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. It seemed like Nate wasn't going to reach for him this time. Wade would have to get closer to him. He was giving Wade the choice, the opportunity to trust him with this.

**_[Closer to Nate…]_ **

**_(When was the last time we were close to anyone?)_ **

Wade leaned towards the other man, tentatively resting his arms across Nate's legs. Nate's hands still hovered over him, not touching, not yet. Shakily, he lowered his head, resting it on Nate's knee. Just being this close at least made the boxes quieter.

**_[Nessa.]_ **

**_(Nessa loved us.)_ **

**_[I don't... remember what that feels like anymore.]_ **

The realization hurt so badly, Wade let out a breath and didn't take another one. They couldn't talk if he didn't breathe. He didn't want to anymore, anyway.

Nate's hands touched his head again, but this time it was different. Warm. His fingers slid over Wade's skin lightly, so lightly, and then back again, never lifting from his head. Petting him.

It was quiet.

It was so quiet, it almost made Wade a little nervous, a little stir crazy in the sudden emptiness of his own head. If he focused, he could hear the fuzzy edge of a soft, static sound.

  


**_< Breathe, Wade.>_**

  


Wade sucked in a breath, as if his lungs suddenly remembered that they needed air.

"...Nate?"

"I'm here," Nate assured him, in his ridiculously soothing voice. His fingertips made small circles against his skin and then went still.

"Don't -- Don't stop doing that. Please. It's nice," Wade pleaded, tilting his head against Nate's hand.

"Shh. Okay. I won't stop, but don't move," Nate urged him. "Just relax."

The petting resumed in slow, soothing movements. Fingertips drawing aimless patterns on his skin. Thumb brushing over the shell of his ear. Quiet static humming away in his head, pushing out all other thoughts.

A heavy calm settled over him, as if a weighted blanket had been put over not only his mind but his entire body. Wade closed his eyes, letting himself sink into it.

"When my daughter Hope has bad dreams, I'd help her fall asleep again," Nate said as he continued the light petting. "Take away all of the nightmares."

For some reason, the reminder that Nate was, above all else, a _dad_ , took Wade by surprise. He was a man who had lost everything, who would have moved heaven and earth to get his daughter back, to keep her safe, and he did _exactly that_. Somewhere in the future, there was a little girl whose dad loved her that much, that fiercely. Wade couldn't relate. His own dad had been all fierce and no love. The kind of man nightmares were made of.

"I'm sorry, Wade. I can't change the past for you, but I can try to make things better here and now. Let's think about something else."

In the black abyss of his mind, Wade saw a snowflake form and fall. Then another formed, and another. They started sticking to the ground, rapidly forming a snow-covered landscape as far as he could imagine, with rolling hills and snow-covered trees everywhere. It was like something out of a painting, too vivid and too beautiful to be real. Better than real. The snow kept falling, huge clumps of snowflakes swirling slowly out of the night sky and hitting the ground. Everything was so still, so silent, he could almost hear it.

It looked cold outside, really cold, and he didn't like the cold, but Wade was _warm_. He was inside, holding a cup of cocoa with lots and lots of marshmallows. Nate was there too, because being alone sucked more than anything, and he had a nice hot cup of cocoa too, because Nate deserved to have nice things. They both had matching sweaters -- something red and tacky -- because Wade had insisted on it, because ugly matching sweaters were the height of achieved domestic bliss. And they were both nestled together on a big, soft couch that was only big enough to be comfortable but not big enough to leave any space between them and Wade had his feet tucked underneath him and Nate's arm was around his shoulders and when he closed his eyes he actually felt content and nothing hurt.

Wade was happy, even if it wasn't real.

He hoped he never had to wake up ever again.

  


-

  
  
  
x  
  
  
  
  



	2. Can you hear them too?

**POV: Nate**  
  


A single bedroom apartment in a shitty building, in a shithole of a neighborhood, was all that Wade and Nate could collectively afford.

Sometimes the jobs Wade got were crazy lucrative, and other times he could go months without any luck, and this was one of his dry spells. Nate only had a small amount of cash left to his name and after that, nothing.

"Are **_you_** good with money?" Wade had asked him while they were trying to figure out finances. The question stabbed him with a feeling of guilt and frustration. It wasn't like he could just get a steady job. His options were limited to the same kind of under-the-table, extremely illegal and off-the-records kind of shit that Wade was already doing. And despite Wade's spotty reputation, he at least he actually _a reputation, unlike Nate._

__

"I'm…"

"Because I'm _really bad_ with money," Wade interrupted. "Last time I got paid beaucoup bucks, I bought a chimpanzee off the black market for a cool 2 mil."

Nate tried to comprehend that logic, but he couldn't. "That's a ridiculous price for a fucking monkey."

" _Chimpanzee._ And I _know!_ " Wade groaned. "I got robbed."

"No, you're just a fucking idiot.”

"I told you I'm really bad with money and this is an example, okay? I bought him little clothes and little hats and so many bananas. By the time rent came around, I didn't have anything left. And it'd only been a _week_. And I felt too bad to keep Mr. Bobo in captivity so I released him back into the wilds of upstate New York."

"Fuck's sake, Wade."

Wade pressed his fingertips together. "So I was thinking, like… if we lived together, I could give you any money I make. And then you could do all that responsible shit."

"You mean pay rent and utilities and groceries and household items?" Nate asked, deadpan.

" _Uggh_ yeah," Wade groaned. "I don't even know what you just said but it sounded so boring I know it's gotta be right."

"Those are the basic responsibilities for an adult human being," Nate said, amazed that Wade had managed to live as long as he had, despite being such a fucking disaster.

"Soooo, you can do it, right?"

Nate held back a sigh. Wade barely knew him, and he was seriously offering to let Nate hold onto most of his money, so long as he used it to keep both of them from being homeless? He only had enough money at the moment to help pitch in for a deposit, and then after that, he wasn't sure _when_ he'd have his own income to offer. Wade actually had a legal identity in this timeline, a social security number, and a bank account. He'd be stupid to say no.

"Yes. I can make sure the rent gets paid," Nate said.

"You promise?" Wade asked, perking up and then glowering at Nate. "You're not gonna fuck me, are you?"

Wade was definitely trying to get a rise out of him, with a double entendre like that.

"No."

"I mean it, Nate! Don't fuck me," Wade repeated, jabbing his finger at him in warning.

"I'm not gonna fuck you," Nate promised, barely able to stop himself from smiling at the joke. The last thing he needed was to encourage that dumbass into thinking he was actually funny.

"Okay. Because I don't like getting fucked," Wade said, so seriously that it caught Nate off guard. Did… Did Wade realize what he was saying, or was he really that dumb?

Then Wade suddenly started shrieking and jumping up and down like a sorority girl. "AAAAAAA! We're gonna be roomies!"

Wade squeezed Nate into an unexpected hug.

No. He was just an idiot.

"Don't get used to it."

  


-

  


"What is your name again?" Wade asked. "Like your _real_ name, not your male stripper name."

Nate clenched his jaw and pointedly ignored Wade.

He would've told him, normally.

He _had_ told him.

But that was the problem. He'd already told Wade, three separate times.

Judging from Wade's behavior, Nate guessed that he probably had something similar to ADHD going on, but not remembering his name was too much for Nate to put up with.

"Okay," Wade finally said, and then spent most of the day pestering him and trying to guess his name. He'd actually gotten close, with _Nathaniel,_ but Nate was feeling too petty to give Wade the win.

"If you won't tell me, then I'll just give you a new name," Wade said. He made a show of eyeing Nate up and down, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "You look like a… Priscilla."

"Do _not_. Call me that."

That would be Wade's only warning.

"But it's such a pretty- _AGH!!_ "

Wade had been reaching for him, and Nate had intercepted that attempted touch by driving one of his knives through Wade's hand.

"My name is Nathan Summers. You can call me Nate. Or you can shut your whore mouth."

Wade gingerly tried to pull his hand free. " _Whore_ mouth? Sir, I take offense. For starters, sex workers deserve respect. Secondly, I've never been paid for-- Wait, wait a second. Summers?"

Nate sighed internally. Of course Wade would know one of his relatives.

"Are you related to that uptight, one-eyed-- YEOW!"

Nate yanked the blade back out, effectively derailing that line of questioning. He wiped Wade's blood off onto his pant leg and put the blade away.

"Oh, Nate. That's not sanitary," Wade said, sounding deeply disappointed in him. "You don't know where my hand has been." Then Wade gasped softly, his eyes lighting up. "We're finally bonding!"

"We are _not_ bonding," Nate denied, and then left the apartment as if he had anywhere else to be.

He needed to start looking for a job. Not just windfall gigs that Wade tried to land, but something stable. Didn't really matter what it was, as long as it was reliable.

Nate didn't know much about Wade Wilson, but he did know the only thing that mattered: Wade was _unstable_ and _unreliable_.

This could only be temporary.

  


-

  


Living with Wade was difficult.

Nate didn't have his wife waiting for him anymore. He always expected to find Aliya standing in the kitchen, humming softly to herself. Or curled up on the couch with a book, completely spellbound by the world held inside its pages. Or right beside him when he woke up in the middle of the night, a warm and soft presence that he always found comfort in. But she was never there.

He didn't have his little girl to hold in his arms. Nate missed Hope's voice the most. How she was always so excited to tell him about her day. How at a certain age, she had started telling _him_ bedtime stories when he tucked her in. How she giggled when he peppered her with kisses.

He had to remind himself that his family was safe, that they were alive, and that there was always the possibility for him to see them again, however long it took for him to get back.

In the meantime, thinking about them just hurt too much.

Nate had to take all of those feelings and memories and lock them inside a little box somewhere deep inside of him.

They didn't always stay there, though.

Sometimes he dreamed of them, and the dreams were so simple and felt so real, when he woke up he wanted to die.

Walking through the front door was the hardest, though. Logically, he knew they wouldn't be there. They'd never be there. But as soon as he stepped through the threshold, his stupid heart still had a moment when it forgot and he completely expected to see his wife and daughter again. When there was nobody there to greet him, it broke all over again.

They were alive.

But they weren't alive _yet_.

And by the time they would be alive again, Nate's bones would be dust.

Other times, Wade was there to greet him, and that was worse.

"Hi honey, how was your day?" was the usual line.

Nate either ignored him or replied with, "Shit." That was the extent of a lot of their conversations, with Wade babbling away while Nate just let the words wash over him.

Sometimes Nate really hated how much it reminded him of his wife.

But Wade was a shit wife.

The apartment got messy fast. It was mostly Wade's greasy food wrappers and dirty clothes, but Nate would be a liar if he didn't admit to contributing to the clutter by leaving pieces of his guns everywhere. At first, it was whatever, just something to be expected from two guys living alone together. But when Wade started sleeping in the piles of trash on the couch, Nate knew it wasn't going to get better.

Nate woke Wade up with a pistol pressed against his kneecap.

It took a few seconds for Wade to think about the situation.

"I was going to ask if that was a gun pressed up against me, or if you were just happy to see me," Wade began, "but that is, in fact, a gun."

"It is," Nate agreed.

"Did you want to talk about something, sweetheart?"

"I do, actually. See… this apartment is a fucking biohazard. I've cleaned up my shit. I want you to clean up yours. And keep it cleaned up. And if you don't, I'm going to shatter your kneecap."

Wade grimaced a smile. "That is extremely painful."

"So I've heard. And as soon as it heals, I'm going to shatter it again. And again. Until your shit is picked up."

"Nate… honey… how am I going to pick up after myself if you're continuously shattering my kneecap?"

Nate tapped the pistol against Wade's knee, nodding in agreement. "You see the dilemma."

"I do."

"Which one are you going to pick?"

"I'd like to pick 'clean up my shit,' please."

"Good choice," Nate smiled sweetly at him and straightened up, giving Wade a little slap on the leg and snorting a laugh when he flinched.

"Would you really shoot me, Nate?" Wade asked, curling away from Nate as he sat up on the couch.

Nate considered it for a moment. "There are kids in this building," he said, which they both knew meant that they wouldn't fire off rounds unless it was absolutely necessary. _Don't kill kids, ever,_ had become a shared code of ethics between them. "But I'm never more than three feet away from a knife at any given moment. Remember that."

"You know, you're really sexy when you threaten me with physical violence," Wade called out to Nate's back as he walked away. "Remember _that_."

"That's not a good comeback, Wade. Get cleaning."

The threat worked. For a while. Nate only had to remind Wade, or come up with another outlandish threat if Wade was dragging his heels. So far, Wade's favorite was, 'I'll scoop out your eyes with a melon baller, deep fry them and feed them to you.' Instead of being afraid, it made him ridiculously happy to hear Nate's colorful ideas. Wade was pretty twisted. But then again, Nate was too. At least the apartment stayed somewhat clean.

They didn't run into each other much. Nate hated to come home, hated to sleep. He only returned when he was so thoroughly exhausted, he knew he wouldn't dream.

Wade's patterns were irregular. Sometimes it seemed like he hadn't left his spot on the couch for hours and other times Nate never saw so much as a fresh piece of trash from him for days. It was disorienting when that happened. At least when Wade was there, things moved. Messes were made and cleaned up. Food was bought and put into the fridge as leftovers and then eaten. Dishes would be left in the sink and greasy little fingerprints would be all over the TV. Once, Wade was half-naked on the kitchen floor, organizing Skittles by shape and size. When Wade was there, he was messy and loud, and even if Nate had just missed him, his signs of life were obvious.

But when Wade wasn't there day after day, nothing moved. Nothing ever changed. Nothing made a sound. Somehow that was so much worse. It made Nate wonder if something had gone wrong. If time was still moving. If he still existed. And it felt like he _didn't_ until Wade came back, bubbling with energy that Nate didn't know he needed.

"Naaate, you'll never guess what happened!"

"Where _were_ you?" Nate asked, shutting down Wade's enthusiasm immediately. He was well aware that the accusation in his tone of voice was unwarranted, but he couldn't help it. It wasn't like Wade had to stay in one place. It wasn't like Wade owed him anything. But Nate hated not knowing. Nate hated feeling like he'd been holding his breath until Wade reappeared. Nate hated the fact that he worried about him at all. And most of all, Nate hated that he was less worried about Wade and more worried about being left alone. It wasn't like Wade could die. But he already knew that people didn't have to be dead to be _gone_.

"I had a job," Wade said, a little confused, but then he started to get excited again. "They flew me out to Brazil-"

Nate cut him off again, raising a hand in an 'I don't want to hear it' gesture.

"Next time you go somewhere, you could at least leave a _note_."

  


-

  


Wade started leaving notes.

Everywhere.

  


  
_Went to see Weasel. Leftovers in fridge. Don't wait up!_

  
_Toilet's broken. Wasn't me._

  
_Can you get more groceries please? And hot sauce. Thanks xoxo_

  


Nate pulled them down as he read them, and threw them away. At first, he thought Wade had started leaving them as a joke, just to poke fun at him, at his outburst, but they kept coming. Wade didn't have enough attention span to devote himself to a joke for this long.

  
_Good morning :)_

  
_~~Can I borrow your big gun?~~_ _I borrowed your big gun. You know, the_ **_big_** _one. Love you. xoxo_

  
_I'll be gone when you get up, but have a good day! xoxo_

  
_There's breakfast on the counter for you! 8)_

  


Nate found a plate of eggs and bacon waiting for him, arranged into a face with a bizarre little smile.

It was... very _Wade._

Nate ate the eyes first, intending to leave it that way, to make some kind of sick statement. But Wade had made that for him, and Wade didn't even cook proper food for _himself_ but once in great while. “It's too much effort,” Wade had said once, about making _toast._  And Nate liked bacon. So he picked up the mouth and ate that too.

More notes came over the next few days. Nate read them all, but he never wrote back. He never knew what he was supposed to say, if anything. It was like a one-sided conversation that didn't matter if he participated or not. Wade could talk to himself forever. Nate didn't mind listening, though.  
  
  


_Went to get milk. And also to put a cap in someone's ass. He's a bad guy though, so don't worry. I'll be home late. xoxo_

_  
Forgot the milk. Also didn't cap the guy so I didn't get paid. Can you pick some up while you're out? xoxo_

_  
Thanks for getting milk. I ordered Thai. Leftovers in the fridge, help yourself buddy. xoxo_

_P.S. ok I ate all the leftovers sorry._

_P.P.S. We should order more Thai when you get back though, it was really good._

  


One of the notes, Nate found while he was out of the apartment. Wade had folded it up and hidden it inside of his gun. The damn thing caused a failure to feed. When he unfolded the little pink piece of paper, it had a joke written on it.

_  
How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh?_

  
There was no punchline on the front or back of the note. Just a drawing of an octopus. But instead of eight legs, it had ten. Fucking idiot didn't even know that an octopus had eight legs.

Nate crunched the note and put it back into his pocket.

Later that day, he was really, _really_ mad when he suddenly got the joke. _Ten-tickles_.

  
  


Then the... _event_ happened.

But this one was worse than New York.

Much worse.

Media called it different things. What was left of the media, anyway. In an instant, half of the population was gone. Missing. Memorials went up everywhere, covered in flowers and candles and hundreds upon hundreds of pictures of the people who had disappeared, until they layered on top of each other.

Nate went to help, trying to assist the fractured team of X-Men however he could. They tried to find a battle to win, but it seemed as if one had already been lost without them. With nothing to fight, Nate started trying to find missing loved ones for some of the desperate families. But there were so many. A daughter. A wife. A husband. All gone in the blink of an eye. There wasn't even a trace left of them.

They had turned to dust and scattered into the wind, according to eyewitnesses. And there were many, _many_ eyewitnesses.

But nobody wanted to believe that they could actually be gone. Not for real. Not for good. Not even if they'd seen it happen right in front of them. There was too much grief to even begin processing. They needed to believe that something this horrible could never happen. That there was always a chance. Something to believe in, to hold onto.

_Hope._

Nate went home.

As he unlocked the door, Nate froze up for an instant, realizing for the first time in that moment that Wade might not be there. Not because he was out to help, but as part of the missing.

Whatever happened, it had erased half the people on the planet in the blink of an eye. Something as awful as that surely could have taken Wade too.

But Wade was there, asleep on the couch. Nate stood in the doorway for a long moment, just watching Wade's chest rise and fall with every slow breath.

Alive.

It felt surreal. Of course, if anyone had survived this, it would be Wade.

But... what if he hadn't? How long would Nate have waited for him? How long before he realized that Wade wasn't coming back? How long before the silence drove him mad?

Nate hated that he knew the answers to those questions. _Too long. Too long. Not long._

When Nate shut the door behind him, Wade stirred, lifting his head.

"'Nessa?" he asked, his voice warm and whispery, still half asleep. "Come back to bed, baby."

The sound of Wade's voice rooted Nate to the spot. It was something he'd never heard from Wade before. Not really. It wasn't a side of Wade that he was supposed to see. It wasn't meant for him.

Nate stood still in the dark, holding his breath while Wade shifted on the couch and then settled down again.

He waited there until Wade's breathing slowed. Waited even longer, to make sure that he'd fallen back asleep. When he was sure that he had, Nate went to the kitchen to find a drink.

Instead, he found the fridge covered in more notes, penned in Wade's frantic scrawl.

  


_Haven't seen you in ~~2~~_ _~~3~~_ _4 days. Hope you didn't get kidnapped. Weasel said he'd keep me posted if someone tried to sell a stud grandpa on the black market. Or a metal arm._

_Someone tried to sell a metal arm on the black market????!! It better be Bucky's and not yours. Not like I care._

_It was Bucky's._

_Where the heck are you??? Also, we so need to exchange numbers as soon as you get back. Texting would be more efficient than leaving notes you never read._

  


Nate pulled them down as he read each one, and then re-read it again.

Wade had been worried. He'd been worried for _days_. Nate hadn't even thought about him until he got back home.

He heard Wade wake up again, sitting up on the couch and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"You're alive," Wade said, sounding relieved, and in awe, and very tired all at once. Then he gasped. "You _do_ read my notes!"

"I read all your notes, Wade," Nate told him. These ones, he didn't want to see ever again. He threw them into the trash, as if that could erase the proof of his carelessness.

"Well. You could write _back_ once in a while," Wade groused. "A little 'xo' wouldn't go amiss."

Nate… couldn't see himself doing that. It only made him feel guiltier that Wade had cared about him at all. Wade shouldn't give a damn about him. Not when Nate wasn't capable of doing the same. Not when so many terrible things could happen in the world. Everybody dies. Everybody goes away. Getting attached hurt too much. This wasn't his timeline, and he had told himself at the start he shouldn't get attached. He needed to remember that.

"We're not exchanging numbers," Nate said. "I've seen the photos you send to Blind Al."

"You should be grateful you _can_ see, pal!"

Nate thought about all of the missing person flyers, about all of the faces he'd seen over the last few days, twisted up with grief, eyes raw from sobbing until they had nothing left to give. He thought about the burnt up bodies of his own wife and child in that other timeline, and then quickly shut that line of thought down.

"Sometimes I'm really not," he said, going to the room. "Goodnight, Wade."

"Oh-"

Nate didn't hear the rest before he snapped the bedroom door shut.

  


-

  


Wade was gone when Nate got out of bed late the next day.

A scrap of paper on the counter just said, _Job._

Nothing cute, no XO's.

Nate didn't have anywhere to be. Certainly nowhere that he wanted to be. He kept his pajamas on and planted himself on the couch.

Most channels were riddled with news coverage, or at the least, ticker tape alerts scrolling nonstop along the bottom of the screen. It was exhausting. He just wanted something else to think about.

The Food Network channel was running marathons of old programming. It was a mindless distraction, but also somewhat educational... and he knew if Wade were here and heard that rationale, he'd probably make fun of him. Whatever. If Wade could watch drag competitions, Nate could watch cooking competitions.

"You only have 30 minutes and you're going to try making risotto?!" Nate yelled at the contestant, who of course couldn't hear him. Truly those who do not learn from history were doomed to repeat it.

Nate had been watching for hours by the time Wade came through the front door. His footsteps seemed a little slower, a little heavier than normal, like he'd had a long day. He only got as far as the living room and then he just stopped. After a second, Nate looked over at him.

Wade was standing there, just staring at him. He looked... confused and strangely _hurt_.

"Wade?" Nate asked, but there was no reaction. Wade was looking right at him, but it seemed like he was a million miles away. "Did something happen?"

"She's _dead_ , stupid," Wade said, his voice weak. "Nobody's gonna love you like that again. He doesn't even like you."

Nate felt his blood swimming in his head. The words _hurt,_ but then Wade had said 'he' and Nate had no idea what he was talking about anymore. Nate didn't know anybody else. Was Wade talking about himself in the third person? But Wade looked just as confused as soon as the words left his mouth, and then he turned and walked off into the kitchen, leaving Nate wondering how angry he should be.

Then he heard Wade collapse, hitting the kitchen floor like a sack of wet cement.

Nate was on his feet before he even knew it, following a trail of blood into the kitchen.

"Fuck," Nate muttered, finding Wade lying awkwardly on his side, his eyes fixed open.

He knew that look. He'd seen it so many times before. Caused it, even. He still tried to rouse Wade out of it, but he didn't revive. Nate pressed his fingers against Wade's wrist, and then against his neck, looking for any sign of a pulse, but there wasn't one.

It took him what felt like an overly long time to realize where the blood was coming from. There was a piece of metal in Wade's chest, just barely sticking out of the costume.

Of course the idiot had walked all the way home while bleeding internally.

Nate had to use his telekinesis to get a grip on the metal and pull it back out of Wade's chest. After it finally came out, he realized it was a fragment of a small pipe, only three inches long. Big enough to do plenty of damage.

Now that it was gone, Wade's healing factor should be able to kick in.

Felt like forever, though.

He couldn't stop thinking about what Wade had said, trying to figure it out. It was pointless, he knew. The words of a dying man didn't always make sense. A dying man who already didn't make sense on a good day.

_She's dead, stupid._

"Wade."

_Nobody's gonna love you like that again._

"Wade, come back to me."

_He doesn't even like you._

Wade's eyes closed, and then slowly blinked open again, like he'd just woken from a deep sleep.

"Your arms must be really long," he mumbled, and it was ridiculous how sweet his voice sounded to Nate's ears.

"Wade, you died for a second," Nate said, trying to bring him back to reality. "I had to pull a piece of metal pipe from your chest. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I got a… pipe in my chest."

"Very illuminating," Nate deadpanned, letting go. If Wade was already feeling good enough to make jokes, he figured his job was done. "Anything else I should know?"

"Now's your chance," he heard Wade mumble to himself. "Tell him you love him. No, that's sappy. Just tell him you're DTF. _Shut up!_ "

"Excuse me?"

Wade froze, looking as if he hadn't expected Nate to hear him. "Not you…" he said slowly, looking mortified. "I can hear... boxes."

"Boxes," Nate repeated. All he could think of was cardboard boxes, but that probably wasn't what Wade meant. Then again, who could tell?

"Yes," Wade looked hopeful again. "Can you hear them too?"

Nate shook his head. "No, Wade. I can only hear you."

Wade looked so defeated by that answer. He started to sink back, and Nate was worried that he was about to lose consciousness again, so he picked Wade up.

"Ah-! Don't drop me," Wade fussed, his fingers clinging to Nate for dear life.

Of course Nate wasn't going to drop him. Wade felt light as a feather to him, and the way Wade was holding onto him, he couldn't slip even if Nate _tried_ to drop him.

"So strong," Wade said, touching Nate's metal arm.  "What's that arm made out of anyway? _Husband material._ Who's sappy now?"

Wade was definitely out of it.

Nate dumped Wade onto the couch, but as he suspected, Wade's hands clung to him like suckers on an octopus.

"Sleep it off, Wilson," Nate grunted, finally succeeding in prying him off.

"Oof. Last name basis. That's not good."

Nate ignored him, going to his room so Wade couldn't try to follow him or keep talking to him. It was the only way to make sure Wade fell asleep. But even after he'd left, he could still hear Wade whispering to himself.

It was… almost eerie to listen to, and he had to block it out instead. Wade had been dead for one minute and forty-seven seconds. Stuff like that fucked with your head. It made people hallucinate all kinds of things. Demons, angels, a light at the end of the tunnel.

Nate and Wade had gone drinking, only once. Before they became roommates. It sounded like a decent idea at the time. With an idiot like Wade, Nate had thought it could even be _fun,_ but all of the alcohol just made Nate feel hazy and depressed. With Wade, it was worse. It made him quieter and cleared his mind. But when his mind was finally clear, there was nothing he could see that was good.

Wade had told Nate about seeing Vanessa when he died. He said if heaven existed, that was all he could ever hope for. Just the two of them in a cozy room, nestled on the couch together, forever. But he could never get in, no matter how many times he tried. She kept telling him it wasn't his time. And Wade was starting to worry that he just wasn't good enough to get there.

They didn't drink again.

  


-

  


The next day, Nate found Wade at the kitchen sink, coughing up blood clots into the drain.

"Did you die again last night?" Nate asked him, feeling hesitant. He was never quite sure how Wade would react to anything.

"Only in spirit," Wade replied. The snarky comeback at least let Nate know that Wade was feeling better. They were right back to keeping each other at an arm's distance, and honestly, that was probably for the better.

Wade doubled over and hacked up another blood clot, something wet and solid that that hit the bottom of the sink with a disgusting _thunk_.

"I'd appreciate it if you could contain your biohazards to the bathroom," Nate said. He wasn't sure he could listen to that again.

Wade didn't move. He looked queasy. "I'd appreciate it if you'd shut your handsome face and mind your own-" Wade broke off into dry heaves, but nothing came up. Finally, he spat to clear his mouth and then slumped over in defeat.

"Almost had it. Oh man, this is worse than spitting up bullets. Those just come out when they're ready. Maybe if I drown myself in the bathtub, the blood clots will rinse out. What d'you think?"

Wade had suggested that so lightly, like a joke. Drowning himself. But Nate could see the exhaustion on his face. Knew well enough that Wade would definitely do that, because he was the type who was willing to try anything.

Drowning probably wouldn't help. It definitely wouldn't help Wade's state of mind. But Nate considered the possibility of removing all of the blood clots from Wade with his telekinesis. It wouldn't be pleasant, but he knew Wade was the type who'd try anything.

"I'll help you."

"Really?" Wade sounded surprised, but then a gloomy realization came over him. "Oh. Yeah. I bet you'd love to hold me down and watch me struggle," he said, still thinking about the drowning idea. Then, in a flirtatious tone, "I'll make it good for you, baby. Just promise me we'll do it face to face."

Nate pinched his lips together, trying not smile at that. God, but Wade's idea of flirting was dark. It was probably bad to encourage that.

"I don't want to watch you struggle," Nate said. If he did, he'd just leave Wade alone to keep coughing up blood.

"Ah. Consensual," Wade nodded. "Okay, well, I'd be open to some over-the-clothes stuff, and whatever happens while I'm still dead doesn't count."

Nate couldn't help but laugh. "I don't think we're having the same conversation." He put his hands on Wade's shoulders, hoping that he could ground Wade into reality, let him know that he was being serious.

"Do you mind if I try something on you?"

" _YES,_ you can do whatever you want to me."

Flirting again. But he'd said yes, and that was fair enough.

"Okay," Nate said, drawing all of his concentration to this task. It seemed simple enough, but he had to take care not to accidentally rip Wade's insides out.

Wade suddenly realized what was about to happen, and blurted out a last-minute objection, followed immediately by him lurching back to the sink and puking violently. Or trying to. Nothing came out, not yet. Not until Nate finished drawing all of the clotted blood out from inside of him, and let the mess fall into the sink.

When it was over, Wade looked like someone had cut his strings, and clung to the sink for a moment, panting for breath. It was hard on him, but at least it worked. For Nate, it was a little exhausting. Even though it seemed like a simple trick, he'd had to devote energy and a lot of focus into what he was doing, and as soon as he was done, he had to put all of his focus back to keeping the T.O. virus inside of him from spreading. It only slipped a little bit.

"What the fuck was _that?!_ "

"Probably a quart of blood," Nate estimated. "And… a Lego man?"

"No, that Criss Angel Mindfreak shit!"

"Wade, please."

"No, _you_ please! Did you just use psychic powers to pump my stomach?"

"There's surprisingly very little stomach content. That's mostly from your lungs."

"I don't remember inhaling a Lego man… But that's not the point! Psychic powers, Nate, Y or N?"

Honestly, Nate thought Wade had already known. "Y."

"Oh my god," Wade put his hands on his head, dramatic as ever. "I thought I could trust you, Nate. I feel so violated. This whole time my voluptuous brain might as well have been naked and I was living with a damned dirty peeping Tom. How many times did you whammy me?"

That actually hurt. Did Wade really think Nate would use his powers on him without asking?

"Wade, first of all, I rarely ever use my powers-"

"A likely story! Wait-- I _do_ remember inhaling a Lego man last week."

"It's the _truth_ ," Nate asserted. For some reason, the possibility of Wade thinking otherwise really got under his skin. He flexed his left arm, making the hated T.O. shift. "You see all this metal?"

"Yes."

"It's a techno-organic virus. Turning my flesh into metal," Nate said, trying to give Wade a simple explanation that he could follow easily. "It would completely consume me if left unchecked. I have to constantly focus on holding the infection at bay. So trust me, I use my abilities sparingly. Secondly…" He sighed. "Yes, I did try to 'whammy' you, once, during our first fight. I couldn't get the image of naked Bea Arthur out of my head for hours."

"That was a gift you didn't deserve."

A… _gift_. At the time, Nate had thought that Wade had impressive mental fortitude against psionic attacks. But looking back with all that he knew about Wade now, he realized that Wade had probably just happened to be thinking about Bea Arthur naked at that exact moment, because reasons.

"Right. So I haven't used my powers on you, Wade," Nate concluded. "I wouldn't."

"You just did," Wade reminded him.

"With your consent."

"That was dubious at _best_ and now we have to add a warning in the tags," Wade sighed. "Non-consensual telekinetic Heimlich maneuver…. This is problematic now. People aren't gonna click on this."

Sometimes Nate really didn't understand what Wade was babbling on about, and he was glad that he didn't. "Sorry? I could put it back in you if you want."

" _No!_ " Wade actually looked panicked by that possibility, and Nate smiled. "Of all the things you could put in me, that would rank among my _least_ favorite options."

Meaning Wade had some favorite options in mind? Nate could think of a few things to put in Wade… and that thought was so vivid and so lurid, it caught him completely off guard.

This wasn't something he'd ever wanted to let himself take seriously. Wade didn't take _anything_ seriously. Fucking always came with feelings and he wasn't sure Wade was actually capable of any.

"Noted," Nate said, and then started to leave.

"What does that mean?" Wade started following him. "Nate?"

Nate spun around. "Wilson," Nate snarled, in a we-are-absolutely-not-discussing-this-anymore tone of voice. He didn't need Wade asking questions. "Clean your shit out of that sink. I wash my fucking vegetables in there."

Wade looked at him like he had seven heads. "Since when do you have to _wash_ vegetables? They come in a can!"

Holy fuck.

"Not all of us eat cat food, shit-for-brains."

"Just because you've binge-watched eight-year-olds making sauteed mashed potatoes and julienne gravy doesn't mean you're smart enough to do it."

Julienne… was Wade really that stupid? Then again, Wade had once asked him which side of the muffin tin to use.

"I don't know how to 'julienne' gravy."

"My point exactly!"

" _No_. Because those words don't go toge-" Nate stopped himself before he got too riled up. There was no point in trying to explain why Wade was being stupid. "Fine, Wade. I'll make dinner tonight. But only if you sanitize this shithole. Got it?"

Nate expected pushback, but to his surprise, Wade immediately agreed.

The kitchen would be clean _and_ Wade was going to eat real food? That felt like a win/win.

  


-

  


Nate went out looking for work.

It didn't take him long to find it. Just not exactly the _paying_ kind.

You'd think that half of the population being culled would reduce crime. It did, technically. It also caused widespread panic, the occasional riots, looting, and general fear and unrest.

He spent the entire day going from one crisis to another. A fistfight on the street. A mugging. A woman screaming on the streets, who could not be calmed down because she had lost her child. A child found wandering, who had witnessed both of her parents turn to ash. A building on fire. Another building with a man at the top, ready to jump.

Nate didn't help them all. He couldn't. There was just so much, and not enough time in the day. It was dark out when he stumbled onto a trail of blood and heard sobbing. He caught sight of a young man in a mask dragging an axe down an alleyway, slowly stalking a terrified woman.

"You gotta be shitting me," Nate muttered. Just then, someone else came running up and paused at the sight of him.

Wolverine.

"I said the same thing," Logan said, and then they both went after the madman.

Turned out the man was convinced that the movie _The Purge_ had come to life and that he was free to do whatever he wanted. It was worrying that in a presumed 'lawless' society, the first thing this particular young man wanted to do was murder the remaining members of his family and then start randomly terrorizing and attacking young women on the street.

His mistake was assuming that the concept of a lawless society only worked in his favor. He seemed to realize that as soon as they cornered him, alone.

"Hey, Cable. How black and white is your moral code?" Logan asked him.

"Grey," Nate replied.

They made sure the young woman found the safety of a police escort. They also left an anonymous tip about a dead body in an alley.

"You think they'll look into it?" Nate asked later, joining Logan for a walk.

"I think they're fuckin' swamped," Logan replied. "I'd been tracking him down starting at the triple homicide at his house. Mom, dad, and baby brother. If the cops even identify him, they'll be able to put two and two together. Dead serial killer is the least of their concern right now."

It was pretty cut and dry. Still, Nate didn't think he'd tell Wade about this one if he could help it.

"Surprised you're still living in this time," Logan commented.

"Surprised you're still alive," Nate replied.

"Doesn't shit like that fuck with the timeline?"

Nate just shrugged. It wasn't like he had a choice. As long as his family stayed safe, he didn't really care if his presence in the past fucked up the timestream.

"Half of my team is dead," Logan said.

Nate looked at him as they walked, trying to gauge how Logan felt about that.

"You think me being here caused this?" he asked. To be honest… he wasn't even sure that it was outside the realm of possibility.

But Logan shook his head and spat on the ground. "No. Some ugly purple bitch with magic bling caused this. Apparently."

"That sounds stupid enough to be true."

Logan cast a glance at Nate and stopped walking. "How did your people make out?"

Nate didn't really have a lot of people to account for. Domino had reached out to him after the event, and Wade was safe. "I only have two people that I care about, and they're both fine," he said.

"Right," Logan nodded. "The wife and kid."

Nate froze up. He hadn't thought about them. They weren't here in the present for the event to even affect them, and Hope's teddy bear was still pristine, meaning she was alive in the future. But Logan didn't know about any other attachments.

"Right," Nate agreed.

"Where are you staying?" Logan asked. Nate could immediately sense that this line of questioning had an agenda behind it.

"I've got a place," Nate said. He didn't need to owe anyone else any favors.

"Uh-huh. Well, if you're interested, we're recruiting right now," Logan said, sounding bored. "Got a lot of terrified newbies. Could use some more older-than-dirt types to keep things calm."

"I don't think I'm interested in playing babysitter."

"Yeah? Neither am I, but kids kinda grow on you," Logan muttered. "At least let me finish my pitch and then think about it. You'd have meals and a free room, if you want it. We've got plenty. If not, you could still get a stipend if you join the team."

"A stipend," Nate repeated.

"Yeah. It's decent. Enough to pay for rent and groceries, plus a little more. Not as much as the Avengers, I'm sure. I hear they're recruiting too. Too bad Stark is still missing."

"What's the catch?"

"Being part of the active roster. On-call duty. And there's a lot to do right now, so don't count on having much freetime for a while. When you're not on call, you'd be expected to help out with the students a little, but we can figure that part out."

"Teaching?"

Logan shrugged. "If you want to, sure. But right now a lot of them need a shoulder to cry on more than anything else. Mine's gone fuckin' soggy."

Nate tried to imagine what it would be like moving into the mansion. He'd be expected to follow certain rules and respond when he was called. If Logan managed to do it, Nate knew he could too, but it still felt a little overbearing. Not to mention his father would be there.

"I'll think about it," Nate said.

"Well, think about this," Logan added before they parted ways. "You're already out here trying to help. Might as well get paid for it."

  


-

  


When Nate left the apartment the next morning, Wade was still asleep on the couch.

When he came back that night, still broke and little more worn down, Wade had barely moved, but now he was lying face down.

Nate left him alone and went to take a shower to rinse off all of the day's grime and disappointment. It shouldn't be this hard. It _wasn't_ , actually. Logan had given him an obvious choice, and Nate had been considering it all day. He didn't like not being able to contribute anything. Wade hadn't even known how much he had left in his account when he gave Nate access. It was a good little chunk. Enough to keep them going for half a year, maybe, before things got tight. But Nate needed to look further ahead than that. A lot further ahead. So would Wade, if he liked sleeping on a couch and not in a gutter.

After he finished, Nate stepped out of the shower, toweled off a little, and went to go see if Wade was up.

He wasn't. But he was awake.

"Have you even moved off that couch all day?" Nate asked.

Wade finally moved, lifting his head to reply, but when he caught sight of Nate, he stopped short.

"Oh no, he's _hot,_ " Wade groaned. "I mean, we already knew that but now he's like, naked and stuff. Is that even legal?"

Nate blinked in surprise. Wade was talking about him… but why was he talking in the third person?"

"Shut up." Wade pressed a hand against his head. "Why do you think?"

That felt more than coincidental, to the point of eerie. "Are you talking to me?" Nate asked, but he was sure that he wasn't projecting any thoughts.

"N-no. Not you. The boxes," Wade mumbled. Then, under his breath, "You sound insane."

Wade… didn't look well. Whatever the 'boxes' were, Nate was a little more than concerned about Wade talking to himself like this. He went to go get dressed, and as soon as he left the room, he heard Wade start talking again.

"I don't blame him. I'd be concerned about having a psycho for a roommate, too." It startled Nate, how nasty the tone of voice was coming from Wade, but the next second he was yelling, "Get out of my head! It's mine. I liked it better when there was only one of me in here."

Nate hastily dressed while the one-sided conversation continued.

"I don't wanna be here any more than you do. Then _why_ are you _here_ ? Who _else_ is going to put up with you?!"

When Nate came back out, Wade was holding his head in his hands.

"Seriously. There's a reason he never wants to be around you," Wade said quietly to himself. " _Nobody does_."

The words were cutting for Nate to overhear -- and that's how it felt, like he'd walked into a conversation he wasn't supposed to be privy to. Wade was talking about _him._ He thought Nate didn't want to be around him, and therefore nobody else did. How long had this been going on without Nate realizing it? There was that impulse to correct him, to tell Wade that what he'd just said wasn't true. But he wasn't entirely wrong. Nate hadn't been around. He tried to remember the last time they actually just spent time together and realized that since they'd moved in together, they hadn't.

"It doesn't work that way," Wade hissed to himself, and then took a deep breath and held it.

Silence.

Nate tried to think of what to do. He hated himself for only now seeing how stressed Wade looked, how distraught. After the event, he'd been so busy responding to the chaos outside and trying to help strangers, he hadn't even stopped to ask Wade if he was okay. He just assumed that because Wade was alive, he was fine. Clearly, he wasn't.

Nate came closer, keeping an eye on Wade, who looked like he was trying his hardest to keep it together.

"Mind if I sit down?"

Wade was silent for several more seconds and then finally inhaled a shaky breath and exhaled a, " _Yes, please_." Other than that, he didn't move.

Nate took the opportunity to sit down, mindful to keep a little space between them. It hadn't occurred to him until that moment how much he really needed to sit down.

"And he has to see _your_ ugly face," Wade said, or maybe the nasty voice inside Wade's head was saying it. "Can you imagine?" Wade ducked his head, nails digging into his scalp. " _Stop it._ I know. Just stop. Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop…"

The pleading was difficult to listen to. It didn't end, but grew quieter until Nate was able to interrupt.

"Have you been here all day talking to yourself?" he asked, trying to get a sense of how long Wade had been having this episode.

He worried Wade would take it the wrong way, but the question seemed to give Wade something to focus on.

"No... I got paid a little bit today," Wade said, slowly, as if it took a good deal of concentration. "I bought some food. But then I ate all of it. And then I got sick."

"Sick as in…? Hearing boxes talking to you?"

"No, as in I ate way too much," Wade groaned. "I was so hungry but now I'm only full of regret about my life choices."

Nate suddenly remembered that when he'd come home last night, he'd just gone straight to bed.  "Ah. Fuck," he groaned, feeling like an ass. "That's right, I said I'd make dinner the other night."

"You _did,_ " Wade whined. "And I _cleaned_. For _nothing_."

"Sorry. I'm guessing you don't want it now."

Wade clutched his stomach. "Uggh. No."

"Well… at least your kitchen is clean," Nate said. "That's a reward in itself."

Wade made a face. "A reward in itself? What kind of asshole says that? The kind that throws away Hello Kitty post-it notes." He looked at Nate again. "Yeah, I'm gonna agree with the little yellow box on this one," he said, pointing a finger at the air beside his head. "Doing a chore isn't a reward in itself. A reward is a reward. We were really looking forward to Nate in an apron," he added, folding in on himself again. "And food. Don't forget food. But also apron."

The return of the 'we' statement worried him. Nate stared at Wade for a moment, trying to gauge which statements were from his Wade and which were from these colored 'boxes' that Wade thought he was talking to. There was a slightly different way Wade spoke each time as if there were separate personalities emerging, all with the same voice. But ultimately, he realized it didn't matter. It was a raw glimpse into Wade's head, and Wade was upset about the broken promise.

"Understood," Nate said. "I'll have to make it up to you."

Wade's eyes were bright again. "I'm holding you to that." He held out his little finger. "Pinky swear it."

A pinky swear. Something like that was so unexpected, but it was very Wade. Nate hooked their little fingers together, giving Wade his solemn promise.

"Wow," Wade said, dreamily. "Holding hands."

He let go, realizing he'd probably held onto Wade a little too long.

Wade turned away to scold himself.

"Good job, you ruined the moment." Then, after a beat, " _You_ shut up. _Fucking rude._ " Then, exasperated, "I can't even think my own thoughts in my own head?!"

"Wade," Nate said, trying to break the one-sided argument up.

"Boxes," Wade said, as an explanation.

"You know there aren't any boxes, right Wade?" Nate asked him. "They aren't really in your head."

"I know that," Wade sounded upset. "But they still won't shut up. I think I've got a tumor pressing on the crazy part of my brain right now."

A tumor. That could be it, but somehow Nate didn't feel like it was.

"Nate doesn't get it," Wade said, his tone cutting. Then, only a little less harsh, "No, he gets it. There's not a lot to misunderstand about 'crazy.'"

Nate tried to ignore the outburst. "Why do you think this is happening now?"

"How the heck should I know! I've always been a little screwy, but this is too much even for me," Wade said. There was that energy Nate was used to from his Wade. But just as quickly as the denial came, he offered another conflicting statement: "People who talk to themselves usually do it because there's nobody else willing to listen to them. _Bingo._ " Wade jerked back in his seat, looking angry. "Well, I'm _not_ talking to myself. You two can talk to each other and I'm. Not. Listening." He curled up against his side of the couch with a huff. There was a soft, annoyed, "Don't ignore me," and then an even softer, "Let him be. He'll come back around." Then it was quiet.

Nate wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't even entirely sure if Wade was talking to himself, or addressing Nate, or talking _about_ Nate to himself.

The only thing he did know was that leaving Wade alone right now wasn't going to solve anything.

They hadn't done anything together in such a long time. He didn't know where to start. But just being with Wade would be better than nothing, surely. Talking to him had seemed to help, at least a little.

Nate turned on the TV, which, to his embarrassment, was still on Food Network. He opened the guide and scrolled through it, but didn't dare start flipping through channels. Nothing looked interesting, and there were too many news stations to avoid.

"What do you want to watch?" Nate asked, hoping that Wade had some preference to offer.

There was no reply. Nate turned to look at him and waited.

As if on extreme delay, Wade finally asked, "What?"

"What do you want to watch?" Nate asked again, patiently.

Wade was staring ahead, looking confused and a little afraid.

"Nate's never watched TV with us. What's happening?" he whispered to himself. Then his expression changed, turning emotionless, as if some dark clarity had come over him. " _Pity._ He knows we're losing it."

Wade turned his head towards Nate, staring straight through him. Despite the incisive gaze, he looked lifeless, as if nothing held any meaning to him anymore.

"Wade?"

"Nate," Wade answered, his voice dull. "I know you don't like being around me. This isn't your problem, so don't worry about it."

"Wade-" Nate started again, but Wade suddenly got off the couch and left.

Nate hesitated to follow, not wanting to drive Wade away, and when Wade shut himself in the bathroom, he felt relieved at first. Maybe Wade just needed some space to clear his head.

But then Nate realized Wade had no plans of coming back out.

Nate got up, going to the bathroom door. It was locked, of course. "Wade, come out."

On the other side, he could hear fragments of Wade muttering to himself. " _\-- stupid -- now you're -- makes you think that? -- just want attention, admit it -- should've stayed dead -- Nate's not gonna -- don't even deserve him -- when will you --"_

"Please, Wade. Listen to _me_ , not them. These things in your head, they aren't real, okay?" Nate tried to reason with him. "I know it feels like what they're saying is true, but I promise you they aren't right. Not about you. Not about us. Come out of there, alright? Come on, Wade. For fuck's sake, I'm trying to talk to you, isn't that what you wanted? Get the fuck out."

After a while of yelling, Nate realized that Wade had gone quiet. He stopped, trying to get a hold of his anger, his… if he was honest… _fear_. Fear of losing Wade.

He could use telekinesis to force the lock. He could also break the door down, easily.

Nate pressed his hands against the door, listening. On the other side, he heard Wade humming tunelessly to himself. Drowning out the voices. Drowning out Nate.

He curled his fingers against the cheap faux-wood door and tried to will himself to stop. To calm down.

It was impossible for Wade to die or permanently hurt himself. But it was possible for Nate to lose him, regardless. Wade had never outright said that he'd missed Nate, but it was there. Written out in the notes Wade left him. Confessed in his worry that Nate didn't want to be around him. But he'd shut down and now he was shutting Nate out. If Nate pushed too hard now, he worried that Wade would push back and cut him off completely.

Nate stepped away from the door.

He went back to the couch.

He sat down.

He turned off the TV.

And he waited.

Eventually, Wade would have to come back out. Eventually, they would have to talk. About this. About them. About what the hell they were doing.

After a couple hours, he realized Wade's faint humming had stopped. Nate reached out with his psychic ability, feeling for Wade's mind, and sensed that he had fallen asleep.

Nate couldn't sleep so easily. He kept mulling everything over in his head, starting with all of the flirting and innuendo Wade had thrown at him since they first met. He thought about every time Wade had tried to talk to him, all the notes he'd written, and every time Nate blocked him out completely.

Wade had been talking to himself for a long, long time.

And Nate hadn't really spoken to anyone for almost as long.

  


-

  


It was hard to sleep. Every time Nate dozed off, he'd wake again a short while later and instinctively check for Wade's mind, to make sure he was still there.

Sometime before dawn, he managed to get in a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

When he woke up, he had to piss. Badly.

Wade was still holed up in the fucking bathroom.

He briefly entertained the notion of kicking in the door, but the last thing he needed was more problems.

The nearest corner market had a bathroom, he realized. He needed to get some groceries anyway if he wanted to make up for blowing off his promise about making Wade dinner.

"I fuckin' hate you," Nate muttered, going to his room to get dressed. He was ready to go out the door, but at the last second it occurred to him that Wade might wake up and see that Nate had left and take it in the worst way possible. When it came to dealing with Wade, you always had to think to yourself, 'What is the worst case scenario?' and then go a couple steps beyond that. If Nate left without leaving a note, he could come back to Wade giving him the cold shoulder, or he could come back to find the entire building burned to ground.

Nate found Wade's pad of Hello Kitty paper and impatiently wrote down a quick note.

_Went out._

There. Simple and to the point.

Ah, fuck. Maybe that was too simple. Wade would think he wasn't coming back, because he was a fucking idiot.

_Went out. Be back later._

That was still a little bit impersonal. Nate didn't want Wade to think he didn't care about his wellbeing.

_Went out. Be back later. Don't off yourself._

That was better.

But if Wade actually read this note, Nate also didn't want him to think he could hole up in the bathroom again. That shit got old fast.

_Went out. Be back later. Don't off yourself. Or lock yourself in the bathroom again._

Nate stared at the note, written on a pastel pink background with little cartoon kittens and hearts and flowers and sweets, and felt a mild panic.

 _Fucker_ , he added hastily, and then left before he had time to second-guess himself.

  


-

  


The apartment was quiet when Nate got back.

"Wade? I've got food," Nate called out, hoping to lure him out from hiding. The bathroom door was open, but Nate couldn't sense Wade's buzzing thoughts anywhere. He wasn't home.

Nate dumped his bags of groceries on the kitchen floor (cloth, not plastic, because a better future for his daughter started today) and looked at the counter. His note was gone, and Wade had left another one in its place.

_$$$$$$!!! xoxo_

Wade had a job offer, then. A promising one, by the looks of it, because Wade was excited about it. And he must've finally forgiven Nate, because the little XO's were back.

Nate snorted softly, ignoring the clench in his chest and started putting the groceries away. He was just grateful that whatever funk Wade had fallen into was finally over.

As long as the job went okay.

As long as Nate didn't fuck things up between them again.

He did his best to fill the time until Wade came home. Nate wiped down the kitchen (which was, surprisingly, pretty clean) and then threw out a couple expired things from the fridge. He checked the bathroom for any sign of damage or blood to clean up and was relieved to find none. Then he sat down on the couch and tried to find something worth watching, but all he could think about was what Wade's commentary would be if they were watching it together, and how much he missed Wade's chatter filling up the silence.

Finally, it was past what Nate considered a respectable time to have dinner.

He had to face the fact that Wade might be getting home late.

Nate got up and started prepping to make dinner. Spaghetti was pretty straightforward and seemed like something Wade would like, so Nate was going to make the sauce from scratch. He'd watched his wife do it countless times, usually over her shoulder while his hands rested on her waist. She was very much a 'follow your heart' kind of artist in the kitchen, while Nate preferred to have exact recipes. There was no recipe that matched up to hers, however. Nate would just have to do his best.

Wade had said that he'd been looking forward to seeing Nate in an apron. But wearing an apron was just practical _anyway_ , Nate told himself as he tied it around his waist. He didn't want to get splatters all over his clothes.

At first, Nate could only think about the time, wondering when Wade would get back, but after a while he got caught up in the process of cooking: browning the meat, chopping up vegetables until they were so fine Wade wouldn't be able to tell they were there, and mixing the right ratio of sauce. In the end, the only thing left was to try to add the right spices, but every time he tested the sauce it just didn't taste the way it was supposed to.

He was still trying to figure it out when Wade came home.

"Took you long enough," Nate said, bringing a new spoonful of sauce to his lips to test it. Maybe a little more thyme….

"Wow," he heard Wade exhale, and then slowly approach. He was aware of Wade closing in on his personal space, but it was still a surprise when Wade's hands slid over his hips. "I don't know if you're actually here or not, 'cause I'm pretty sure I'm hallucinating," Wade mumbled, pressing against Nate's back and wrapping his arms around him. "But this hallucination smells really good," he added, and Nate felt Wade breathe in against his neck. "Dream Nate even smells like real Nate."

"Bold of you to do this while I have a hot skillet and a knife so close at hand," Nate said, reminding Wade that a single misstep could cost him.

"Dream Nate _flirts_ just like real Nate, too!" Wade joked.

And there it was. Wade couldn't take anything seriously, and sometimes that felt so cruel.

Wade released him, taking a step back in surrender, and Nate made a point to punch Wade as hard as he could in the shoulder.

"Ow-w," Wade laughed in pain, holding his shoulder, but Nate held no sympathy. That's what he deserved for toying with him.

"What does this need?" Nate asked, offering Wade a spoonful of the sauce.

Wade eyeballed it for a second as if afraid Nate would poison him, and then rolled his mask up and tested it.

"It could use… more… t-k-k-k-k!" Wade tried, wiggling his fingers in the air.

Nate squinted at him, trying to get a sense of what Wade meant, and then turned back to the stove. "I'll try more oregano."

"I'm gonna get changed into my jammies," Wade announced, headed for the bathroom-slash-laundry room with a change of clothes. "Question," he added, pausing at the door. "Should I masturbate before or after dinner?"

" _After_."

"Daring. I like it." Wade disappeared into the bathroom to change while Nate continued tinkering with the sauce.

When Nate tried it again, he had to take a second to keep himself together, hit by an unexpected feeling of nostalgia. It wasn't exactly the same as how he remembered Aliya's, but damn if it wasn't good in its own way.

When Wade came back out, he helped set out plates for them at the kitchen counter, and then they sat down together to eat for the first time since they'd started living together.

It felt strange. But not in a bad way. More like Nate was slowly waking up from a long, terrible dream where he'd merely existed in a world without being able to feel anything. Why they hadn't done this sooner, he had no idea.

Wade hadn't spoken much yet, but also hadn't come up for air since he'd started eating. Nate picked at his own plate, watching Wade all the while.

"You're in good spirits today," he commented.

Wade paused his eating to beam at Nate. "I got paid! Ask me how much!"

"How muc-"

" _Six--!_ " Wade exclaimed, and then looked adorably lost. "Mmm, wait. What's the number called that has six zeros in it?"

"A million?"

"A million! Wait, no, that's not it. I think I meant six numbers altogether."

"Hundred thousand?" Nate tried again, trying not to smile fondly.

"Yeah! I got six hundred thousand," Wade said. "And the job was easy, and I got to be creative at it."

Wade sounded too happy, Nate knew exactly what kind of job it must've been.

"Who'd you have to kill?"

"A child trafficker, who was selling kids through a time vortex to 15th century Europe."

That was… oddly specific. "Why 15th century?"

Wade shrugged, his mouth full again. "He figured post bubonic plague was high demand."

Nate shivered. "That's sick. You got the kids back?"

"Obviously," Wade said as Nate took another bite. "Which, by the way, _perfect_ segue-way to let you know, I've adopted about 60 to 140 kids."

Nate choked. " _About?!_ "

"Haha. Just kidding." Wade stabbed his fork back into his spaghetti. "They wouldn't let me keep even one. Kept crying about how they missed their moms and dads. Kids are so ungrateful these days. What happened to when you could just take in a ward off the street and train them to fight crime?"

Nate snorted lightly at that. "Right? Or assassinate people for money."

"Exactly! Anyway… I think that'll pay the rent for a while, right?" Wade asked, sounding genuinely unsure.

Nate put down his fork and sat back in his seat, suddenly not so hungry anymore. He could say 'yes' but it felt a lot like lying. A lot like forcing Wade to keep putting up with him, just because Wade had a poor grasp on finances. He was so much better off without him. "With what you have in the bank, you could probably buy yourself a house, Wade," Nate told him.

"You mean _us_ , right?" Wade amended immediately. There was so much naivety there. It was like he had no idea how bad Nate was for him.

Nate held Wade's gaze until he couldn't anymore. Wade deserved to know the truth, at least. There were other options available to both of them, now.

"The X-Men offered me a position," he said. "I could stay at the mansion, if I wanted to. Or I could get a stipend. It'd probably be enough to pay rent somewhere. So I won't have to keep leeching off of you."

There was a beat of silence that left his words hanging heavy in the air.

_Leeching._

Wade looked devastated, as if it had never occurred to him before then exactly how their relationship was arranged. "Is that was this is?"

"What else would you call it?" Nate asked bitterly, feeling sick of himself.

Wade was the one with the money, while Nate could barely find work. He was the one who carried their conversations, while Nate gave him silence. He was the one who showed Nate any real affection, even if he was just joking, and Nate could only remember hurting Wade in return.

Nate had taken and taken and never given Wade a single fucking thing.

He heard Wade whisper something to himself that sounded a lot like, " _Told you._ " Then he put on a pained smile. "Say hi to Yukio for me?"

It was a lot kinder than telling Nate to get the fuck out. A lot kinder than Nate knew he deserved.

It still hurt a lot more than he'd anticipated.

  


-

  


Falling asleep was never easy anymore.

Staying asleep was even harder, but at some point, Nate had gotten used to the nightmares.

This time, when he dreamed of finding his wife and daughter's burnt bodies, Wade's was there with them. The only people he cared about. People that he'd failed.

Wade's scream woke him, and Nate sat upright in bed, heart pounding in his chest, convinced for a moment that his dream was real.

As he sat there, trying to get a grip on reality, he heard Wade again.

" _This is bad. Bad. Bad._ "

Nate was up without a second thought, chilled by the unnatural tone of voice, like Wade was a broken record on repeat.

" _Bad. Bad._ "

Nate found him curled up on the floor beside the couch, holding his head in his hands.

"Stop. Stop. Stop," Wade repeated, his entire body trembling. "Really bad."

"What's going on, Wade?" Nate asked, but he already knew Wade was having another episode.

"Pity," Wade muttered, lifting his head from his hands.  "I can't sleep. My head is so _loud_ , Nate, they just won't stop talking." It was obvious Wade had been crying, and he looked tormented, on the verge of tears again. Then, angrily, "Whose fault is that? It's your brain, just stop thinking thoughts. _Get out!_ " Wade punched himself in the head so hard, Nate flinched. " ** _You_** _get out!_ "

Nate caught the next punch, briefly struggling to hold onto Wade's hands until he seemed to come back to reality and stopped trying to hurt himself.

"Nate…" Wade said, softly, and for half a second, Nate was hopeful that Wade had snapped out of it. "That telekinesis stuff. Could you do a lobotomy with it?" Nate felt sick at the thought of doing that to Wade. Sick that Wade was desperate enough to ask. Sick that Wade thought Nate would actually do that for him. "I don't know what part of the brain you gotta take out for this kind of shit, and I don't even care," he added, trembling again. "Just keep taking pieces until it stops." Wade stopped looking at him, a million miles away again and emotionless. "A bullet would do the same thing a lot faster. Messy, though." Then the anger came back with startling speed. "You're kidding, right? At least it would be _silent!_ "

Wade managed to jerk his hands free from Nate's grip, beating both fists over his head viciously.

"Wade, _stop,_ " Nate had to avoid getting hit as he tried to restrain Wade again.

"Yeah, knock it off," Wade said, panting lightly under Nate's hold. "Listen to Nate."

This time, Nate knew better than to trust that Wade was calm. "I can try to help. If you'll let me."

"Last time he tried something, you puked your lungs out," Wade said, still not looking at Nate. "This is different. This time we'll puke our brains out. Why waste the strength? Nate has guns. Big ones." Wade slumped, apparently accepting his fate. He looked exhausted. "Do what you gotta do, Nate."

That wasn't an option.

That wasn't _ever_ going to be an option.

"I'm not going to blow your brains out and neither are you. I'm a telepath, Wade," Nate reminded him. "Reading your mind is difficult, but I can project thoughts too."

"Projecting thoughts? Like what? Nate thoughts? What does Nate think about?" Wade asked, his words all coming out in one rambling stream. "Guns, fanny packs, pockets, chapstick, cooking, cooking shows, Gordon Ramsay, explosions, bigger guns, bigger chapstick. Gordon Ramsay is hot, even when he's yelling. Especially when he's yelling. Nate yells at us. Nate cooks. Nate wears aprons. Naprons. Nate in chaps. Naps. Snaps. Snacks-"

Wade started sounding like a broken record again. Nate put it to an end, connecting to Wade's mind with a touch and projecting a static to drown out the voices and give Wade some relief.

They only connected for a brief instant, and then Wade flinched away from the connection, breaking it.

"Sorry," Nate reached out again, but Wade shivered and stayed just out of reach, as if he were afraid of it.

"What was that? I didn't like that. Touching…" Wade shivered. "I could hear the ocean. Does that mean our head is a seashell? No, it's Nate's thoughts, Nate is the seashell. Sneashell. Sne snells snea snells by the snea snore. Oh my god, you're so annoying," Wade groaned, holding his head in his hands again. Then, in a desperate whine that made his chest ache, " _Nate_."

"Wade, it's easier if I can keep in contact while I use my power on you," Nate explained. He needed Wade to let him do this, or it wouldn't work.

"We'd be touching…. I didn't like that, it's loud. Couldn't hear myself think," Wade complained. "But I liked Nate touching us. Touching was nice. Nothing hurt. That's as close as you can get to being dead without dying. Dying is nice," Wade said, so fondly that it made Nate afraid. " _Death_ is nice. Dying hurts," he amended. "Living hurts."

"Wade," Nate said again, trying to bring him back from another spiral of thoughts. He sat down on the couch, holding his hands out to Wade, but not reaching for him. "Come here. Put your head down, okay? I'll make it quieter this time."

"Make my head quieter?" Wade asked, edging closer.

"Yes," Nate promised. "I'll make it go away."

Wade's eyes lost focus on him again, suddenly blinking back tears. "Nessa went away," he said, and then with less emotion, "Nate will go away."

Nate couldn't breathe suddenly. This breakdown couldn't be because of him. He wasn't worth it. What Wade and Vanessa had together while she was alive, that was something special and Nate was just… _here_.

He could still remember what Wade had said, the first time this started. _She's dead, stupid. Nobody's gonna love you like that again. He doesn't even like you._

Nate wasn't even sure that Wade was entirely wrong. He didn't feel like he was capable of loving anyone. Not the way Wade deserved. But Wade didn't deserve to suffer like this either.

"They're just bad thoughts, Wade," Nate said. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay with you until you fall asleep."

"And then what?" Wade asked. "He can hear our thoughts now? It's almost like he's a psychic with psychic powers. How can he know what we're thinking? I don't even know what we're thinking. _I just want to sleep_."

"I'll help you sleep, Wade," Nate promised. He lifted his hands, reminding Wade that he was here for him. "It's okay."

"Closer to Nate…" Wade mumbled to himself. "When was the last time we were close to anyone?"

Nate was afraid that Wade would start spiraling again, but instead, Wade moved towards him, resting his arms across Nate's legs. He didn't touch Wade yet. Didn't dare to.

Slowly, Wade lowered himself down and rested his head on Nate's knee.

"Nessa. Nessa loved us," Wade said, quietly. "I don't… remember what that feels like anymore."

There was so much pain in Wade's voice, Nate couldn't bear it. He put his hands on Wade's head, focusing his power, willing Wade's mind to go quiet.

It was a lot like trying to calm the ripples on the surface of a pond by touching it. It was impossible to make the water perfectly still. Instead, Nate sent out his own vibrations, interrupting the existing patterns and making it impossible for any other thought to form. It didn't have to be loud, it just had to be enough to replace the constant buzz of thoughts.

Wade had gone motionless in Nate's lap. Holding his breath again.

  


**_< Breathe, Wade.>_ **

****  


The projected thought made Wade gasp, as if coming back to life.

"...Nate?" he asked.

"I'm here," Nate assured him, rubbing circles onto Wade's skin with his fingertips. Then he realized, to his embarrassment, that he'd been petting Wade the entire time, and quickly stopped.

"Don't -- Don't stop doing that. Please. It's nice," Wade pleaded, jerking a little under Nate's hands.

"Shh," Nate shushed, afraid that Wade would break the connection. "Okay. I won't stop, but don't move. Just relax."

He let his fingers resume their slow movements. Following the flow of scar tissue on Wade's skin. Brushing his thumb over the curve of Wade's ear. He felt Wade relax against him, sinking deeper.

"When my daughter Hope has bad dreams, I'd help her fall asleep again," Nate said, thinking of how many times he'd held her in his arms and done just this. "Take away all of the nightmares."

Even with Wade's permission to connect with his mind, Wade's thoughts were hard to read. They weren't words or even clear images. It was more like only being able to feel an abstract, and Nate caught the edge of one unexpectedly. It looked like misshapen darkness and it smelled like old booze and it was called _father_. It felt like being hit with fists and the sharp bite of a belt buckle and it tasted like salt-tears-blood, and it was called _love_.

Nate pushed the memory away as soon as he realized what it was, focusing a little harder to keep it from forming again. "I'm sorry, Wade. I can't change the past for you, but I can try to make things better here and now. Let's think about something else."

Hope always loved the snow. Nate would sometimes help her fall asleep by making snowflakes for her. They were as complex as they were beautiful, and Nate enjoyed the challenge of forming a unique crystalline structure with each one.

Nate would design one and then set it spinning, as if falling through the night sky.

He formed another, letting it fall way when he was done, and then another.

Hope would usually join him, designing her own snowflakes, simpler and imperfect, but beautiful nonetheless. Or her mind would wander off as she fell asleep, dreaming of snow hares with fur made of ice, or the first spring flowers, or a night sky full of stars with sparkling crystalline structures.

No matter what, Nate always had some modicum of control over it.

But as soon as Wade started drifting off, Nate slowly but surely lost control. Apparently Wade liked the snow, because his perfect snowflakes quickly became only a few among millions, carpeting the landscape of Wade's imagination in rolling white hills. The snow kept falling, glimmering flakes manifesting from the sky and silently hitting the ground.

The next thing Nate knew, he was inside, where it was warm, simply watching the falling snow through the window. Wade was with him, and they were both sitting together on a couch, with matching sweaters and matching cups of hot cocoa full of lots and lots of marshmallows.

It was everything Wade had ever hoped for, Nate realized. Only, Nate wasn't supposed to be here.

_Just the two of them in a cozy room, nestled on the couch together, forever._

But Nate wasn't Vanessa.

And nothing ever lasted forever.

But this wasn't real.

Which meant that, just for a second, Nate could let himself pretend that it was.

Nate put his arm around Wade's shoulders and felt something inside of him break when Wade leaned back into him, settling against his chest like they were made to fit together.

Like it was so simple.

Like they could just be happy.

And suddenly Nate wondered why they _couldn't_ be.

  
  


-

 

x


	3. I can only hear you.

**POV: Both**

  


Nate woke up on the couch the next morning with Wade's blanket tucked in all around him. As soon as he realized Wade wasn't beside him, he sat upright, but it took a couple seconds longer to wake fully and orient himself.

Being disconnected from Wade's mind made everything feeling so much emptier and a little bit colder.

But Wade hadn't gone far. He was in Nate's room, sitting cross-legged on his bed with an open shoebox full of little pieces of memorabilia.

Wade hadn't moved in with many possessions, but this one box he'd insisted on storing underneath Nate's bed, saying it'd be safer there. There were dozens of photos scattered across the bed in front of him. It looked disorganized, but Wade probably had a method to how he'd arranged them, one that he just couldn't recognize.

"Sorry I'm in your room," Wade said without looking up. He was too focused on the photo in his hands.

"It's your room, too," Nate pointed out. Wade just shrugged.

Carefully, as not to disturb the photos spread across the mattress, Nate sat down next to Wade and pulled his feet up, copying Wade's posture. Wade gave him a sidelong glance and then relaxed, moving closer by a fraction, so Nate could see the photo of himself and Vanessa.

Nate had never seen what Wade looked like before the cancer, before Weapon X. It surprised him to realize that as far as he was concerned, Wade didn't look all that different. He just looked so much _happier._ There was a genuine joy in his eyes as he smiled into the camera, unaware of the fact that Vanessa had turned her head at the last second, her tongue stuck out mischievously at him.

Nate wished he could've met her. Wished he could've thanked the woman who made Wade smile like that.

He turned to look at Wade, trying to gauge how the other man was feeling. 

"How's your head today?" he asked gently.

"Better," Wade said, relieved. "Quieter. Thanks for cleaning up the place."

"All I did was clear the slate," Nate told him.

"Well, thanks, anyway," Wade said. "I really needed some time to just not have any thoughts to think."

"I think we all need that now and then."

"But now I'm thinking a lot," Wade added ominously. 

Nate studied Wade again, his concern renewed. "About what?"

Wade didn't have to look at Nate to know that he had that stupid look on his face. The one where his brow got that little crease and his mouth frowned too much. He didn't want Nate making that face at him. He didn't want Nate getting worry lines over him before he left. Or worse -- _staying_ out of some misguided sense of obligation.

He didn't wanna talk about his problems. His problems weren't Nate's problems.

"Thinking about making a scrapbook," Wade said, putting the photo down carefully into a particular spot, as if he were choosing the page in his mind's eye. "My memory isn't what it used to be. I kinda always wanted to make one, almost as a joke. It'd be cute. But I should've started sooner. I don't remember taking some of these anymore."

Nate looked over the photos, feeling a pang of sympathy for Wade's loss.

"I think that's a good idea, Wade," he said. "Maybe if you write down as much as you can remember beside each picture, that might help bring back more memories."

"God, you're smart," Wade said, his voice full of admiration and edged with excitement. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

"I don't know. I feel like an exceptional dumbass lately," Nate confessed.

" _Exceptional Dumbass._ Remind me of that if I ever wanna write an autobiography."

Nate tried to smile at the joke, but it was difficult. He understood Wade deflecting with humor, but now he wasn't sure what to say, and it felt like the opportunity to apologize had just escaped him.

Wade picked up another photo. The angle was awkward, but Nate could partially see Wade and Vanessa in the background, laughing. In the foreground, their hands were laced together in such a way that he could see their matching painted fingernails.

"Looks like fun," Nate said, and Wade brightened, smiling suddenly.

"Nessa loved it when I painted her nails for her. It's just easier doing someone else's, y'know? And it was nice, 'cause she could actually keep it on for a while, going out and stuff. _Oooh,_ I used to be really good at it!" he added excitedly. "I could do the french tips and the stripes and the diagonals that make optical illusions and the squiggly things and these little flowers that looked all watercolor-y and fancy. Nessa would let me do her toes too but I don't have any photos of that. Don't have any polish anymore, either. Probably for the best," he added, although he sounded sad about it. "Merc with a manicure doesn't sound as cool."

"As cool as what?"

"Merc With a Mouth," Wade said, with a silent 'duh' at the end.

Nate lifted an eyebrow. "Who calls you that?"

"People. The readers. My fans," Wade said defensively, looking away.

"I don't call you that."

"No," Wade agreed. "You have different pet names for me. Like, dumbass and shit-for-brains and fucker. But I know you love me really so it's okay-- Wait, did you just say you're a fan of me?"

"Do I not say that often enough?"

" _No._ Or like, _ever,_ " Wade muttered, not-so-subtly wiping at his eyes.

"I'm not great with words," Nate admitted. It was this shortcoming that had caused Wade so much recent misery. "Feels like I never know what to say. That's why I'd rather let you do the talking."

Wade fiddled with the photo in his hands. "Thought you just hated talking to me."

"If I hated you, I wouldn't have moved in with you," Nate said. "I just hated… how much I _didn't_ hate it."

Wade looked lost and a little bit angry. "Yeah, I don't get that."

Nate let out a breath, full of disappointment at himself, at the words that wouldn't connect. "I'm trying," he said, a little plea for Wade's patience as he tried to gather his thoughts and put them into words. He stared down at his hands in his lap, pushing his fingertips together. Metal against flesh.

"The first thing I admired about you was your persistence," Nate finally said. "Even if I thought you were wrong. But you weren't wrong. I was. And I liked your sense of humor. Even if you were a dumbass. But you're not a dumbass. I was the dumbass. You put on this act like you don't take anything seriously and nothing affects you. Like everything's just a game to you. And it's a shitty act. It really is. But I fell for it. I wanted to believe it. Because if you didn't care about anything, then I didn't have to, either. I didn't have to acknowledge that I was hurting you. I didn't have to treat you like a person. And I didn't. I treated you like shit."

"To be fair, I _am_ shit," Wade said.

" _No,_ you're _not,_ " Nate said, a little too aggressively. "You're a considerate and generous person. Funny. Sensitive. Heroic, even. You deserve to be taken seriously. I was just so caught up in my own shit, I didn't stop to think that you had feelings, too. You're fucking _messy,_ I guess, but I'm growing kind of fond of the scatterbrain--" he trailed off, realizing that Wade was in tears, despite his silence. "Did I fuck this up again?"

"No," Wade shook his head. He put the photo back on the bed and leaned over to grab a tissue off of Nate's nightstand. "Sorry, I know you didn't buy them for this purpose," he said, wiping his eyes and then his nose. 

Nate watched Wade trying to compose himself. "Would this be an appropriate time to offer a hug or something?"

"Would it?!" Wade blurted out, giving Nate such an offended look it made the other man nervous. "That's like asking if I want to pet a polar bear."

"Oh," Nate said, as if that clarified anything. But he had no fucking clue.

Wade fidgeted. "I _always_ wanna pet a polar bear, Nate. But the thing with polar bears is, they'll usually maul you to death. And you're the polar bear."

"Yeah," Nate said. "That's fair."

He still didn't understand, Wade realized. He wanted to scream internally, but if he was gonna teach Nate good communication skills, he needed to demonstrate.

"You can hug me at any given time of any given day. You can hug me even if I'm _sleeping._ You don't need to ask for permission, ever," Wade continued. "Just fuck me up."

"Okay," Nate said, but he still didn't move.

"Nate. We're doing a thing here," Wade said, clenching his fists with barely contained restraint. "Hugging. I'm a slut for it. Anytime, anywhere. I wanna hug. Now. So you need to tell me your stance, where the cut-off point is before you're gonna start knifing me. Or grant me carte blanche. Go."

The direct approach finally made Nate catch up with the programming. "Right. Got it. Okay. You can hug me if I'm _awake_ ," he said. "And if you feel like you need a hug. And if I know it's coming. And if I say stop, you stop."

"Nice. I like boundaries. I can respect that," Wade said. He was practically vibrating with need. "Can I get that hug now?"

Nate lifted up his arm and Wade practically fell onto him, but when he shifted positions, he accidentally kicked several photos off of the bed.

"NESSA, NO!" Wade cried, rolling off the bed to pick up all of the photos. He started collecting them all again, arranging them in a particular order in his hands as he went. It took a while before he carefully stuffed them back into the shoebox, but he looked so stressed that Nate held no intention of interrupting his process. When he was done, Wade pressed his fingers to his lips and blew a kiss. "Bye, baby," he whispered, closing up the lid and tucking it underneath the bed.

"All good?" Nate asked.

Wade nodded, still looking a little stressed. When Nate lifted his hands again, Wade climbed back onto the mattress and crawled to him, flopping face-first against Nate's stomach and locking his arms around Nate's waist.

Nate put his arms around Wade, rubbing his back.

"Sorry for being an asshole," Nate said.

Wade made a soft noise into Nate's abs. "I'm not sure if I'm ready to forgive you," he said, only partially teasing. "Need more time. And hugs."

"Will it help if I tell you why?" Nate questioned.

"Why what? Why you were such an asshole?"

"Yeah."

"Tell me."

"I didn't want to get attached," Nate said. "I never intended on staying for long."

Wade felt cold again, his stomach twisting at the admission. Knowing Nate's reasoning didn't help. At all. But he didn't want to discourage Nate from being honest, so he didn't say that. He just held on a little tighter, as if Nate wouldn't notice.

"Are you really gonna be an X-Man? An X- _Men_? Join _the_ X-Men? Stop me, I'm not sure what the grammatical rules are here."

"I was planning on it," Nate said. "I need stability. We both do."

Wade felt his heart sink into his stomach. "Yeah. I get that."

"I'm going to stop by the mansion today," Nate said. "I want to see what it looks like."

"Oh. Do I get to throw you a going-away party first?"

"No," Nate said. "I want you to come with me. For moral support."

Wade lifted his head, mouth dropping open in surprise. "For realsies?"

"Realsies," Nate confirmed, and then grunted when Wade shoved off of him and bounced on the bed.

"We're going to the X-Mansion!" Wade cheered, jumping on the mattress. He stopped just as abruptly, looking at Nate with wide eyes. "Holy _shit,_ Nate! You're gonna be an X-Men! An X- _Man_. This is so confusing. They really need to change to a gender-neutral team name. You're gonna be one of the X-Nerds!"

"You're more excited about this than I am," Nate noted.

"Yeah, what's up with that?!" Wade dropped onto his knees, making the bed shake. "Get excited, Nate! You're gonna see so many cool people all the time! You'll get to hang out with Colossus and Negasonic Teenage Warhead and, of _course,_ the greatest mutant of all time!"

Nate stared at him, waiting for Wade to say a name, and then decided to hazard a guess. "Wolverine?"

" _Wolverine?_ " Wade spluttered a laugh and then cackled like a hyena for half a minute before wiping the tears out of his eyes. "I'm pretty sure he kicked the big one, Nate. No, I'm talking about *~Yukio~*."

"Of course," Nate said. But all he could think was that he didn't care about any of those people. Not on a personal level, at least.

"You're gonna have so many cool new friends and team-ups. You'll probably get your own solo arc," Wade continued, but the hype melted away into a somewhat haunted look. His eyes flickered back to Nate, full of apprehension. "You'll still remember me, right?"

"You're unforgettable, Wade Wilson," Nate replied.

Wade smiled, but he looked sad. The emotion passed quickly, replaced by another surge of optimistic energy.

"Can we take a selfie before we go?"

"A 'selfie'?" Nate repeated in amused disbelief.

"Yeah, a selfie. As in taking a photo of yourself," Wade explained.

"I know what a selfie is," Nate said, still amused. "It's just so _old,_ Wade. That's like saying, 'Let's go see a talkie. As in a talking picture.'"

"Wrong era, dumbass. But I guess a 'movie' isn't any less stupid than a 'talkie.' What do you call movies in the future?"

Nate looked sheepish. "Movies."

Wade squinted at him. "And what do you call selfies?"

"Fronts," Nate said. "As in the front-facing camera."

"How is that _better?_ "

"I didn't say it was better," Nate objected. "I just said you're old-fashioned."

"Says Mr. I Get My Vegetables From A _Garden,_ " Wade huffed. "Can we just agree that all people from all time periods are stupid as hell?"

"That I can agree on."

"Cool. So can we take a frontie?"

"Yeah," Nate laughed. "We can."

Wade let out a whoop and then almost fell face-first off the bed as he ran to find his phone. When he retrieved it from the couch cushions, he whooped all the way back and flung himself on the bed in excitement.

"Jesus, Wade," Nate grunted, shifting as Wade scrambled up to sit in front of him.

"Just a second," Wade said, fiddling with the phone until the camera app came up. He held up the phone, angling them both into the frame. "Okay, pretend you're happy for once!"

They both smiled for the camera as Wade started snapping pictures, but Nate noticed that Wade's smile was as insincere as his own. It was nothing like the one Vanessa managed to bring out in him. And that was fair enough. He wasn't Vanessa. He didn't expect to work any miracles. He just wanted Wade to be a little bit happier.

Nate leaned closer, locking an arm around Wade. "Smile, fucker," he said, and felt a surge of relief when Wade laughed, a genuine warmth coming back into his stupidly soulful brown eyes.

"I knew you loved me," Wade teased.

"Yeah, yeah. Take the picture," Nate said, bumping his head against Wade's and resting there for a second. Or two.

When they pulled apart, the little spark in Wade's eyes stayed there.

 

-

 

The X-Mansion was quieter than it usually was every time Wade dropped by. There was zero sign of life, and nobody was coming to the doorbell, and Negasonic was only answering his texts with middle finger emojis, and Wade couldn't see the sunlight sparkling off of Colossus' glorious metal bod through any of the windows.

"Did you schedule an appointment?" Wade asked Nate, who just scowled. "Don't worry, I've got this."

Wade skipped off into one of the immaculately kept gardens (seriously, who had the _time_ for that? But at least now he knew why Nate wanted to ditch him for this place so badly) and grabbed the biggest rock he could lift.

"Is this the best course of action?" Nate questioned, still waiting at the entrance.

"You wanna get in here, right?" Wade asked. "Leave it to me, baby boy. Momma's gonna get you into the best mutant school New York has to offer. Full ride!"

He heaved the rock through one of the really pretty ornate windows at the front of the building. It made an equally pretty sound when it shattered into a bajillion pieces.

There was a moment where Wade and Nate both paused, looking at each other and waiting for all hell to break loose. 

There was nothing but silence.

"Someone forgot to set the alarm before they left," Wade remarked.

"If you crawl through that window, you'll disembowel yourself," Nate warned him.

He wasn't wrong. There were still a lot of very nasty-looking pieces left in the frame.

"The things I do for love," Wade sighed, squaring himself up.

Nate turned the handle on the front entrance and pushed it open, staring at Wade the entire time. "Love is an open door."

"I… You… I thought you tried the door, Nate!" Wade complained, following Nate inside. "Wait, you've seen the movie _Frozen_?"

"It's a classic," Nate replied.

"Can we sing Love Is An Open Door together? I think that's actually a really good representation of our relationship. I mean friendship."

"No."

"Why not?! It's so _us,_ Nate!"

"Sweet, funny Anna and the douchebag who leaves her to die?"

"Point taken," Wade said, coming to a stop in the middle of the room. "Hey, why was it so easy to break in here and where the hell is everybody?"

"There should be at least a couple people here to keep the homefires burning," Nate said.

"Honestly." Wade huffed, turning around, and then shouted out, "He-ey! We're a couple of bad gu-uys! We came here to deface all of these lovely portraits of old white men and scuff up your floors!" They both waited again, and then shared a look and rolled their eyes together. "This is just--"

"--Disappointing, really," Nate agreed. He headed for the stairs. "I'm gonna go check the bathroom situation."

"Good idea. You can tell a lot about a place by the state of their potty," Wade said. "While you're up there, see if Colossus is taking a nap and wake him the fuck up! He's got more than enough beauty sleep. I'm just gonna stay down here and not touch anything."

"And I believe you, Wade," Nate called back sarcastically, before he disappeared.

Wade stood still for all of 1.6 seconds before it was too much. "I can't believe he _believed_ me," he said, darting off to find the kitchen. "Making a sandwich doesn't count though, right?"

When he found the kitchen, Wade skittered to a halt.

There was already someone in the kitchen.

Sitting down at the counter.

Eating a sandwich.

"Pigeon Wing?!" Wade blurted out. He didn't need an answer, because there was, in fact, only one mutant that he knew of who had the powers of a fully grown man with fully grown pigeon wings on his back.

"Not a pigeon," Pigeon Wing said, not even bothering to look surprised about Wade's sudden appearance. He had his left elbow on the counter, head resting against his hand, looking like he'd just had the worst week of his life and his roast beef sandwich was the only thing keeping him going.

"I thought you were dead," Wade said.

"God, I wish," he muttered.

"That's concerning, but also, _big mood_. Didn't you hear us break in?"

"Yeah."

"So you also heard me say, we're bad guys here to scuff up your floors, and you didn't even both to put on a shirt to come stop me?"

"I don't think bad guys would be talking about their favorite Disney songs," Pigeon Wing said.

"Bad guys can have favorite Disney songs!"

"Sure, but not in the middle of an actual break-in."

"Well, you're wrong, because we _actually_ broke in!" Wade argued. "I mean… technically I broke a window for no reason because you guys left the front freakin' door _unlocked,_ but still."

"So are you gonna scuff up the floors or what?"

"I'm thinkin' about it!"

Pigeon Wing sighed. "Why are you really here, Deadpool?"

"Because my buddy Cable got accepted to Hogwarts and I wanted to make sure the Sorting Hat doesn't put him in the wrong house. He needs to be in Hufflepuff. He's actually a very disgruntled, very moody Slytherin, but contrary to popular misconception, Slytherins aren't _bad._ It's just that they only care about a very small circle of people. And they _will_ knife you if you hurt those people. He's been through hell and back to keep his family safe, and until he can be with them again, he needs to be surrounded by some gentle souls."

"You know Cable?" Pigeon Wing asked, looking both surprised and skeptical.

"Know him? He's the only man who's ever been inside of me," Wade replied.

Pigeon Wing blinked at him and then just nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Can I have half of that sandwich?"

"No."

"Wow, rude. If our situations were reversed, I would've shared with you," Wade said, and then immediately muttered under his breath, "No, I wouldn't have. Unless it were Nate, and he asked me for it."

Nate was suddenly standing behind him. "That's awfully sweet of you, Wade."

"Nate! It's only been two minutes but I missed you so much. Did you wake our sleeping prince?"

"He isn't here."

"That's too bad. Well, look who I found! It's Hawk Guy. By the way, the Avengers have been looking everywhere for you."

Pigeon Wing glared at him. "My code name isn't _Hawkeye_ , it's Angel."

"Yeah, and mine's Buffy," Wade let out a wheezing laugh. "He's a real kidder. We're getting along great. Hey, Nate, we're friends right? Tell him we're friends."

"Friends?" Nate repeated, lifting an eyebrow. "I'd say we're more than just friends, Wade. I've been inside of you."

"See?! And earlier we took pictures in bed together."

"That's also true," Nate said, with barely contained amusement.

Pigeon Wing/Hawk Guy/Angel stood up, gathering his sandwich. "I'm... just... gonna leave. Good luck with the… Sorting Hat stuff."

"Thank you!" Wade called after him. "He's such a friendly guy. Love him. How was the bathroom situation?"

"Communal," Nate said, clearly displeased.

"That's not gonna work," Wade said, and Nate shook his head in solemn agreement. "You know Logan sleeps in the nude, right? You're gonna have to lock your door. Oh! Speak of the naked devil," he added brightly, seeing Logan's familiar, angry face approaching, with Scott at his side. "Took ya long enough. What were you doing, making out in the basement?"

"Wilson," Logan half growled, half sighed.

"Wolvie," Wade said.

" _Deadpool,_ " Scott said. "Leave."

"Cyclops," Wade said. "No."

Scott looked at Nate. "Cable."

" _Scott,_ " Nate said.

"Wow, isn't this neat?" Wade asked, bouncing on his toes. "We're both here and our _dads_ are both here."

"I'm not your dad, Wade," Logan said, already past his tolerance for Wade's shit.

"Are you sure?" Wade started counting on his fingers. "I was made with your genetic material, you never spend any time with me, you don't _love_ me, and you never call. Sounds a lot like my dad."

"Sounds familiar," Nate agreed.

"Nathan," Scott began, but Nate cut him off.

"Save it. I'm not here for you. I'm just here to talk terms."

"Terms?" Scott repeated.

"If I'm gonna live here, or join your team, I have a couple conditions," Nate explained.

"Yeah, he's gonna need his own bathroom, for one," Wade piped up. "Nate's a private guy. And that fancy rich-people garden better produce some vegetables, or Nate's gonna be tearin' some shit up with one of those little handheld shovels. He's also gonna need a TV in his room with full access to every cooking- and food-related channel currently known to mankind."

"Those aren't my conditions," Nate assured them.

"And a lifetime supply of lip balm," Wade added.

"Wilson, shut the fuck up," Logan said. "What do you want, Nate?"

Nate set his mouth in a grim line. "I want Wade to have the same opportunity to join the team."

"For realsies?!" Wade whipped his head in Nate's direction so fast his neck cracked. "Aaaooww."

Scott shook his head. "Absolutely not."

"A room, then," Nate offered, but Scott kept shaking his head.

"Not happening."

"That's fine. Thanks for the offer. I'm not interested," Nate said, walking away.

"Nathan," Scott objected, but when he tried to catch Nate's arm, he was blasted away by a surge of energy from Nate's techno-organic arm.

Logan grabbed his teammate by the shoulder, preventing him from falling down or foolishly trying to chase after Nate again. "Let him go," he suggested.

Scott shrugged Logan off and then rounded on Wade, who was still standing there, completely baffled by what just happened.

"Why are you here, Deadpool?" Scott demanded. "We're trying to get Cable onto a better path. You being here is taking a giant shit on all of that."

" _You're_ trying to?!" Wade spluttered, overcome with sudden anger. "Newsflash, assholes! I've been trying to get Nate onto a better path _this entire time!_ "

"You and Cable left a wake of destruction when he came back to this timeline," Scott said. "And I'm not just talking property damage. There's a body count. If it weren't for the Event, you'd still be in prison. You _should_ be in prison. I'm not even sure about Cable."

"His name's _Nate._ And all of that shit? It's on me. Not him," Wade said. "Do you even know what he's been through? I might be the one who's fucked up, but I didn't see anybody else trying to convince him there's still some good in this world."

"There's nothing good about you, Wade," Logan scoffed. "You're the last person Nate should be hanging around. He'll end up just like you."

"You think I don't know that?! I don't _want_ him to end up like me!" Wade shouted. There was a silence, and Wade's shoulders slumped as his own words settled into his bones. "I don't want anyone to end up like me."

"That might be the first smart thing I've ever heard you say," Logan muttered, as heavy footsteps came back to them. Nate appeared in the doorway.

"Nate," Wade said, not sure if he felt relieved or worse about Nate coming back. "You should really recons-"

"Wade, you were supposed to follow me," Nate said. "The whole 'I'm not going anywhere without you' gesture doesn't really work if you're still here."

Wade looked painfully confused. "The--? You're, you're really--? But I thought-- Okay." 

Wade went to Nate, following him out of the kitchen.

Logan caught them in the hallway.

"Cable, hold on," Logan said. "Wade's ten pounds of crazy in a five-pound sack, and I thought you'd wanna get away from that, but that's your choice. We're really fucked. You don't have to live here, just take the stipend. When you're done tryin' to fix crazy, at least you'll still have options."

Nate didn't even take a second to pretend like he needed to think about it. "I'll take the stipend. You get two weeks of full-time status from me. Use it wisely. After that, I'm setting my own priorities as I see fit."

"Priorities, huh," Logan remarked. "Fine."

With that, Nate walked away again. This time he made sure Wade was at his side.

"Nate, I didn't get to deface anything," Wade complained softly, while Nate dragged him along with an arm over his shoulders. "Let me at least stab Scoot for you."

"I appreciate the offer, but no. Let's go home, Wade."

Those four little words kinda took the breath right out of Wade's chest. 

But before they left the mansion, Wade scuffed his boots as hard as he could across the floor.

 

-

 

Home felt quieter and kind of weird.

Nate took off his guns and his fanny pack and his ass-stomping boots. When he was done putting his things away all nice and neat, he went to the kitchen to get a drink.

Wade took off his swords and his gloves and his suit, letting them drop onto the floor in a pile. When he was down to just his boxers and mask, he sat down on the couch and hunched himself up like a sad gargoyle hugging his knees to his chest.

That was how Nate found him when he came back. He put two drinks down on the coffee table - a cup of coffee and a mug of cocoa for Wade. He sat down on his end of the couch.

"You could've had Colossus as a roommate," Wade mumbled into his knees.

"I don't want Colossus as a roommate," Nate said. "I'm not leaving, Wade. Not unless you want me to go."

"I don't. But that was a mistake."

"What was?"

"Turning down that offer," Wade said. "I'm not _worth_ it, Nate. I know it. Logan knows it. Scott knows it. The people reading this at home know it."

Nate looked skeptical. "Is that you speaking, or the nasty little voice in your head?"

"No. The white box keeps saying we need to talk. And now yellow is singing that Janet Jackson song, so thanks."

"I don't hear any singing," Nate said, watching Wade carefully.

"Oh, it's there," Wade assured him. "No, my first name ain't baby. It's Wade. Miss Wilson, if you're nasty."

Nate reached out to touch Wade's head, but Wade stopped him, clinging onto his wrist.

"I don't need a reset, Nate. You can't fix crazy."

"You're not crazy, you ass," Nate said, dropping his hand. "I worry about you, Wade."

"Yeah? Well, don't."

"You don't get to decide how I feel."

"Maybe not but I can tell you you're still _wrong,_ " Wade said, putting his head in his hands. He could feel the sappy coming on, but he couldn't stop it. "I've always been a mess, Nate. If you go, that's not going to make it any worse. But staying with me isn't going to fix it, either. I don't wanna be anybody's pet project. I don't want you to feel like you owe me anything just because I'm lucky enough to have more money right now. I just liked being around you. But I don't want this thing between us to be based on pity or convenience or obligation. I don't want anything at all if it's gonna be like that."

Emoting was a lot like puking. Sickening, with a lot of tears involved. But the longer you held it in, the worse you felt. Sometimes you just had to let it all out and then pretend it never happened in the first place. Which was a lot harder to do with someone else witnessing it.

Nate was quiet for a moment, trying to process the right thing to say. "There are other places I could go. And there are other people I could live with. But I don't want to. I didn't turn down anything. I got exactly what I wanted. Thanks to you."

"But you could've had _more,_ " Wade objected quietly, miserably, and the mask didn't do a whole lot to preserve his dignity when Nate could hear the tears in his voice.

"Can I just… talk?"

"I dunno. _Can_ you?"

Nate let out a breathy laugh, but it was far from a happy sound. "Yeah… I'm bad at that."

Wade didn't say anything, but waited quietly, fidgeting.

"I haven't been the easiest person to get along with," Nate said. "And you were right. You were the one who'd been trying, this whole time. When I first got here, I wasn't in a good place. The last time I saw my wife and daughter, they were… they were…" His voice cracked. He put a hand to his face, as if it could blot out the memories that still came back to him vividly. "They were my whole world," he said instead, the words catching in his throat. "When I fall asleep, sometimes I still see it. Their bodies. Even though I know everything's fine now, that it should all be erased, I can't get it out of my head. And the only proof I have that they're safe, that any of this meant anything, is a teddy bear."

Wade unfurled himself, wishing that Nate was a hugger, because he sure looked like he could use one right now.

"You're grieving, Nate."

"I'm not--" Nate shook his head in denial. "They're alive. I'll see them again. Someday. I need to believe that."

"Yeah. Someday I'll see Nessa again, too," Wade said quietly, and watched Nate crumble. He scooted a little closer, but not too close, because he knew Nate was never far from a knife and it was never wise to corner a wounded animal. "They're alive, Nate. You saved them. You did right. That doesn't cancel out the fact that you still saw that other timeline, where they died. You lived that. It's still real for you."

Nate nodded, lifting his head and resting his chin against his folded hands.

Wade watched him carefully and then got up off the couch, disappearing into Nate's bedroom. He rummaged under the bed, pulling out the things they hid there for safekeeping -- his shoebox of memorabilia, his favorite Bea Arthur shirt, Nate's extra guns. When he found what he was looking for, he lifted it out and then put everything else back in place.

Wade carried the stuffed bear like it was a sacred object, and handed it to Nate with the same reverence. "Mr. Teddykins is a good listener," he said.

Nate's eyes flickered up at Wade in surprise as he took the bear. Instinctively, he brought it close, breathing in the scents of home still lingering in the soft fur, and then tucked the plush under his chin, holding onto it. "How did you know his name?"

Wade sat down beside him again. "Because you told me, when we went out drinking that one time. You said Hope had it since she was three."

"Yeah. It was the first thing I ever got her," Nate said, a fond but sad look on his face.

"Tell me about her," Wade requested.

"Ohh, she was _beautiful,_ " Nate said. "Just like her mother."

"Is," Wade corrected. "Or 'will be' if you wanna get really technical."

"Is," Nate amended. "My little girl is gorgeous. She's got this fine red hair that's the softest thing you could ever imagine. Aliya always said it was the fire coming out of her soul. Smart as a whip. Stubborn as hell, too. I think she gets it from her mother."

Wade spluttered a laugh. "I think she gets it from _you,_ Robocop."

"Nah, that's not it," Nate shook his head, holding back a laugh.

"Uh-huh." Wade finally noticed the mug of cocoa sitting on the coffee table. "Did you make me cocoa?"

"Yeah. We don't have any marshmallows, though."

Wade picked up the mug and rolled up his mask to take a sip. It tasted like Nate had dumped half a cup of sugar in there on top of the cocoa mix. Just the way he liked it. "We should get some."

"We could do that," Nate agreed. "We could also get some more vegetables."

"We aren't living in the wild, Nate, we don't have to eat raw vegetables from the ground," Wade groused.

"You can _cook_ them," Nate told him, and Wade made an offended noise. " _I'll_ cook them."

"If you cook them, then I'll eat them," Wade said.

"Deal. I think it'd be nice if we had more sit-down meals together. Besides, all that fast food shit isn't good for you."

"Oh no. Please don't ban my fast food," Wade pleaded, but Nate just made a sound like he was considering it. "Nate, please, no. Tacos are my favorite part of the food pyramid."

"First of all, tacos aren't a food group, and secondly, the nutritional guide you're thinking of has been discontinued since the early 2000s," Nate said.

"What?! Since when do they just change things?"

"Things change all the time, Wade. In my time, the nutritional guide is shaped like a hand. For some reason. Don't ask, I don't think anybody knows why."

"Are you really serious about all this stuff?" Wade questioned, rubbing his fingers over the warm edge of his mug. "Staying? Having actual home cooked meals?"

"Yeah. Whenever it's possible. I'll be busy the first two weeks, but then I want some structure. We both need stability. And I'm going to start paying half of the rent."

Wade's eyes went wide. "Half? For real?"

"Yes. As soon as I start getting paid."

"Wow. Does this mean we could get a laptop? And Netflix? And the internet?"

"We could get whatever you want," Nate said.

"A _chimpanzee_ ," Wade whispered.

" _No._ Not wild animals," Nate said. "But we could afford a two bedroom apartment."

"Ugh," Wade looked stressed, glancing towards Nate's room, where their valuables were stashed under the bed. "I don't wanna move."

"Okay. We don't have to move. As long as you're happy."

"Are you staying? For real?" Wade asked again.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Nate frowned, tightening his grip on the teddy bear. Only Wade could really ask that question so cluelessly. As if he couldn't see his own value or how much all of his little gestures actually meant to Nate. But it wasn't like Nate had been forthright with Wade about his feelings. He hadn't even been honest with himself. Change was difficult.

"I like you," Nate said. "I like hearing your voice, and knowing you're here. You're the only person that I feel like myself with. But so far I've been nothing but an assshole. If I leave now, that's all I'll ever be to you. That's not who I am. That's not who I want to be."

"I don't think you're an asshole," Wade said. "If you're staying then I'm happy."

"Looks like you're not getting rid of me so easily, then," Nate said. "I just want you to be happy."

 

-

 

They got a laptop.

And the internet.

And Netflix.

And groceries.

When they got home, Nate was determined to convince Wade that vegetables were worth eating by making a vegetarian meal. His one mistake was announcing his plan. Wade, of course, responded by lying down on the kitchen floor in protest. 

"Get off the floor, Wade. You're getting dirty."

"Vegetables _grow_ in dirt!"

"Fuck's sake," Nate muttered, but he was too stubborn to drag Wade off the floor and Wade was too stubborn to get up, so he just stepped over him while he made dinner.

When their food was ready, Nate prodded Wade with his foot. "You're fucking filthy. Go wash your hands."

Wade tripped over himself getting to his feet. "Love it when you talk dirty to me."

After they ate (and after Wade had seconds, and thirds) Nate made him wash the dishes, because that was only fair.

"I cook, you clean," Nate told him. And when Wade finally finished the chore, Nate had something waiting for him.

"What's this?" Wade asked when Nate handed him what looked like a plain black binder.

"Your scrapbook."

Wade opened it and turned over a few blank pages. "It's empty," he said.

"They don't come premade. You gotta fill it up yourself," Nate told him.

Wade closed the book and clutched it to his chest. For a few long seconds, he stared at the floor, deep in thought. Then he looked at Nate. "If I do this scrapbook thing, will you help me with it?"

"I'm not that creative," Nate warned him. "But I can try."

"You get the glue, I'll handle the glitter," Wade said, making Nate snort softly.

"That I can do."

 

-

 

They were watching _MasterChef Junior_ on the couch together, Nate more than a little invested in the contestants and Wade preoccupied with his phone. At the next commercial break, Nate snatched it away from him without warning.

"Hey!" Wade objected. "Give that back!" He tried reaching for it, but Nate pushed a hand into his face, keeping him at arm's length while he typed something into Wade's phone with his other hand.

"Hold on."

"Nate. I was being good," Wade whined.

"I know. That's why I'm doing this."

"Doing what?"

Nate didn't answer, but two seconds later he let go of Wade's face and handed his phone back to him.

"Enjoy."

Wade accepted the phone cautiously, noting that the messaging app was open. "Did you just give me your number?!"

"I added you to the X-Men group text."

Wade gasped softly, staring wide-eyed at the screen. Then he flopped back onto the couch and started texting with a fevered, singular purpose.

A few seconds later, Nate's phone vibrated. He opened the group chat and watched Wade's incoming flood of eggplant emojis consume the entire screen.

Yukio was the first to text back.

  


_Yukio: Hi, Wade!~_

_Wade: Hiiiii Yukio~✧ ♥♥♥_

_Yukio: ♥♥♥_

_Wade: ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥_

_Scott Summers: Who the hell added Deadpool into the group chat?!_

 

-

 

Wade spent most of the night spamming the X-Men group text with memes, which had at one point devolved into him and Negasonic texting their best 'fellas is it gay?' jokes back and forth at each other.

  


_Wade: Fellas, is it gay to like peanut butter? I mean, it literally comes from nuts._

_Negasonic: Fellas, is it gay to do sports? I mean, you're playing with balls._

_Wade: Fellas, is it gay to have a skeleton? I mean… all men have bones, so you basically have another man inside of you._

_Negasonic: Fellas, is it gay to like females? I mean, Fe = Iron and male = man, so you're basically dating Iron Man._

_Wade: God I wish._

  


The conversation had died off after Wade had fallen asleep, but when he woke up there were two new messages that had been posted early in the morning.

  


_**Scott Summers: New group chat. Next person who adds unauthorized contacts will be suspended.**_

_Cable: Worth it._

  


"Gee, sorry, Nate, did I get you grounded?" Wade called out as he stumbled to his feet and stretched.

There was no reply and Nate's bedroom door was open. He'd already left for the day.

On the kitchen counter, he found one of his little pink sticky notes.

  


_X-Nerds mission. Don't wait up. Left money for pizza._

  


And then, towards the bottom, in tiny print: 

  


_xo_

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Fanart for this fic:   
> [Saving the world one organic vegetable at a time](https://microwave-rice-bag.tumblr.com/post/178354903377/saving-the-world-from-shitting-itself-into), by [microwave-rice-bag](https://microwave-rice-bag.tumblr.com)  
> [Nate and Wade sleeping](http://audpaints.tumblr.com/post/178679790187/inspired-by-a-little-xo-wouldnt-go-amiss-by), by [audpaints](http://audpaints.tumblr.com)  
> [Domestic Cablepool](http://koto-squeals.tumblr.com/post/178316976166/give-your-man-a-smooch-or-ten-wade-for-the-good), by [koto-squeals](http://koto-squeals.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone for following along with this fic! There will be a sequel, so if you'd like to see more please [subscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1114152) to the series that way you can get a notification when the second fic drops. I'm not sure how long it'll be for chapters, since it'll be mostly self-indulgent fluff. And self-indulgent other things. wink wonk.
> 
> Thank you for all of the comments keeping me motivated and fed! Love you, xoxo


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